


That's My Desire

by tea_petty



Series: That's My Desire [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Cabarets, Crime, Detective Noir, F/M, Film Noir, Murder, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-12-07 18:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18238658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Detective Valentine is at it again; embroiled in a scandalous murder involving a singer from the Tappin' Cat, Diamond City's popular new cabaret club.  Things quickly turn south though when he finds himself becoming closer to the prime suspect than he should...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Cold, that’s what it was.  Wet too, when Nick Valentine trotted swiftly up the stairs, rain pelting down on his forearm as he raised it in meager protection before the brim of his battered fedora.  The chipped wood of the door fell easily away from his fingertips; both his silicon ones, and the spindly, bionic skeleton of his ruined fingers which scraped tacitly at the surface.  Despite the unguardedness of the foyer; a small gathering of people congregated around the ragdoll form of Channel Tosto – the cavalry, as Ellie liked to call them, when they were out of ear shot, of course.  Tosto’s limbs splayed in a way that could only denote death - with the carelessness of life passed, her blood strewn around her like a child had finger-painted in macabre crimson.  Blood was smeared around the hardwood floor in flimsy, petaled prints that trailed a few feet away before disappearing abruptly; a clear indicator of where a normal evening had morphed into a late-night thriller serial on the tube.  

“Detective,” a short, stout man nodded to him as he joined the broken circle.

“’Evening Berzins,” Nick gave a brief nod himself, before his golden gaze turned downwards towards the body.  “So, what’ve we got here?”

A different member of the DC Guard piped up now, this one was the inverse of Berzins, tall and lanky, and lacking the stubble of his more seasoned superiors.

“Female, mid-twenties.  We still need the family to come and confirm the identity of the body, but at this point we’re inclined to believe it’s Channel Tosto.”

Nick’s good hand came up to stroke his jaw thoughtfully.  “Huh. That name seems awfully familiar.”

“She’s a singer,” Berzins cleared his throat, “she performs every Wednesday night at the Tappin’ Cat’s.” Berzins shook his head a little, “A real shame – she was a pretty one.” He added for good measure.

Nick shot Berzins a look, but his hand never left his jaw.  

“A lot of blood, and –“ Nick stooped down, crouching to get a better look.  

“-Three stab wounds.” Berzins said gravely.

“Three  _puncture_  wounds.” Nick corrected.  “The outline of the wound is smooth, not jagged – whatever she was stuck with went in real’ easy.”

Nick rose again to his feet, and stepped carefully, tangent to the trail of blood.

“She was dragged.” Nick murmured, before looking back to the cluster of DC Guard members.  “Whoever did this couldn’t lift her by themselves.”  Nick’s eyes swept over the room; the table looked as if those who dined at it had merely left for the lavatory briefly, only to soon return and resume their candle-lit, wine-soaked musings.  

The tall, shapely glasses were still filled with what Nick assumed to be Champaign, and the plates were left in everyday disarray; the eating utensils resting against the mirelurk meat that had barely gone cold. The candle sitting between the two sets was still flickering enthusiastically, having bared witness to everything.  If only they could’ve asked it what it had seen. A few feet away from the cozy, dinner scene, brass-handled iron pokers sat neatly on a rack by the fireplace.  A lonely notch amidst the parallel lines of metal seized his attention.  Nick went to it, his lantern-glowed eyes matching the erotic dancing flames as they twisted and writhed before him.  Then he turned to the pokers.  Five out of six were exactly as they should be.

“One of them is missing.”

If Nick had a brow, it would’ve been furrowed most intently.

“Christ,” Berzins muttered, running a hand tiredly over his porkish face, although he had done no work.

Nick frowned deeply in silent agreement, and a sharp intake of air had him turning back towards the DC Guard in all their futility; more so a formality at this point.  Long n’ skinny had paled considerably, his eyes bugged strangely, and his mouth was puckered as if he was just barely retaining control of whatever he held beyond them.

“S’alright kid, first body is always rough.” Nick’s voice was sympathetic.

He shook his head stiffly,  _that’s not it_.

“Spit it out son,” Berzins jabbed an elbow into long-n’-skinny’s gut, sending him lurching forward as his words escaped him.

“Married!” he blurted.

Nick and the cavalry looked puzzledly to the boy.

“She w-was married, I think.” He whispered hoarsely, before raising a shaky finger to where the corpse’s hand was turned sickeningly away from her.  “Y-you can see the indent of where her r-r-ring was.”

Nick turned suddenly to the body, leaning in so as to get a better view of Channel’s pallid fingers.  Faint without real blood coursing through her veins, but there all the same, was a barely perceptible line wrapping around her left ring finger.

“Well, I’ll be damned…”  Nick looked back to the boy, who seemed to be quivering in his boots. “What’s your name?”

“Jonaitis, Claus Jonaitis, sir.”

“Claus,” Nick tried it out, before flashing the rookie a smile, “Good work – you’re right, this does appear to be a ring-mark, which is a strong indication that she was married.”

Claus’ eyes widened at Nick’s praise,

“S-So what now?”

“Exactly, what now, kid?”

Claus’ nervous tremor seemed to cease as he paused, thoughtful for a moment.  Nick could practically see the cogs turning.

“We talk to the spouse?”

“Bingo.”

Channel’s face, as blank as the outside world would ever see it, looked on to the triumphant scene.  If she had been buried, she might’ve rolled in her grave; it seemed like the perpetrator might get away with murder after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The rain had slowed to a pensive tap by the time Nick had returned to the Agency; like fingers drumming thoughtfully against the table, in the hope that the driving rhythm would be enough to ensnare especially slippery trains of thought. 

“Ellie,” Nick called.

The bronze coat rack stood erect a little bit off to the right upon entering the cramped space; like hired help waiting on stand and hook.  Nick Valentine hung his iconic fedora and trench coat duo on it, the fabric drooping in its dampness.  He had just begun cuffing up the sleeves of his white dress shirt as his secretary came bustling down the stairs.

“Nick! Your back!” she beamed at him, eyes bright. “How’s the crime scene lookin’?”

Nick shook his head a little, as he positioned a cigarette between his lips, and lit it.

“That bad, huh?”

“Is there such thing as a ‘good’ crime scene?” Nick asked grimly after he took a cleansing drag.

“I suppose not,” Ellie sighed, “but there  _are_  informative ones.  While you were gone, I got to making a case file.”

Where Nick’s brow would’ve been, lifted; impressive, considering he had just returned with his own initial thoughts on the crime.

“Channel Tosto, twenty-two years old was reported missing last night at about a quarter to midnight.”

“Who reported her missing?”

“Her mother; she was worried when Channel missed her lunch date with her earlier that day, and then when she went to check up on her at her home and no one answered, she figured something must be wrong.”

Nick exhaled heavily, the cigarette smoldered on in his skeletal hand.  

“I suppose our first order of business is to send someone to alert the family.”

“Oh no…” Ellie’s eyes widened, and a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Be sure to file it under ‘homicide’ instead of ‘missing persons’ too,” Nick frowned in confirmation of Ellie’s fears.

Ellie nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glimpsed downwards at the file she held in her arms.  She leaned slightly away from it now, as if it might bite her – a phantom ache plagued Nick’s chest.  Poor kid, the few murder cases they got always made her a bit squeamish. The synth puffed at what remained of his cigarette, and Ellie brought the file to her desk.  Flipping through it, she plucked one of the first few pages from it and loaded it into her typewriter, positioning it to pick up where she’d left off earlier.

“So, what did you find tonight?”

“A bit of blood and puncture marks where the body’s concerned.”

Ellie’s frown deepened as she began tapping away.

“An unfinished dinner, and missing fire poker and ring.  One of the DC Guard’s rookies thinks it could be a wedding ring.”

Ellie fingers ceased their relentless tapping, her gaze flitting to somewhere far away – off to retrieve some vague memory.

“Yes…if I recall correctly, I do believe she was married.”

Memory didn’t account for much in this line of work, both of them knew that – still though, in a case drenched in deceit and foul intent, the small vote of confidence was a welcome one.

“Have we talked to the spouse yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Any other leads?”

Now it was Nick’s turn to go far away.  The whirring and clicking from inside him seemed to drag the expanse of his contemplation out a couple of milliseconds; synths’ trains of thought seemed to move at a quicker pace than those of humans.

“Berzins mentioned something about the Tappin’ Cat.”

Recognition lit up Ellie’s face.

“Oh! The new jazz bar that just opened up?”

“Must be.  Apparently, she was a singer there.”

“Yeah, yeah – that’s their thing.  Like, the Third Rail has Magnolia, but the Tappin’ Cat has this whole lineup of up and risin’ girls trying to make their mark.”

“A whole line of dames, huh?” Nick’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile.

Ellie had worked for him long enough to know that the little gesture was the equivalent of a bloodhound’s alarming bark as it caught onto a fresh scent.  

“So perhaps one of ‘em will be able to tell you something,” Ellie suggested.

Nick was already shucking his arms through the sleeves of his still-damp coat.  The rack teetered precariously as Nick grabbed his hat from the top and stuffed it onto himself.  Ellie smiled ruefully – they got a fair variety of crimes here; missing persons, murders, ransoms, you name it.  But it was always the same old Nick who got to the bottom of them.  Ellie rose to her feet and turned to the wall of filing cabinets that formed her office.  There wasn’t a soul in Diamond City who wasn’t catalogued in here.  Ellie’s fingers walked the tops of the files, skimming their name tabs, only slowing when she reached the ‘T’ section.  

_Nikolovski, Pedersen, Soler,…Tosto._

Ellie grinned triumphantly and carefully extracted the folder from its nested position.  Opening it, she reached for the top-most page, which included a picture of a handsome young man, with ‘kind-eyes’.  Ellie sniffed; from her experience, those were the ones you had to watch out for.  The pads of her fingers traced the edge of the page almost reverently, as her eyes scanned the information in bold, black letters –  _nice to meet you Mr. Tosto_ , she thought,  _now what are you hiding?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The Tappin’ Cat was perhaps the only of new businesses to pop up in Diamond City; the great, green jewel of the Commonwealth seldom gleaned new facets, you see, but when it did, all eyes turned to it, to watch it sparkle.  And sparkle this one did.  Second to the Valentine Detective Agency sign, it was perhaps the next most iconic sign in Diamond City; with its neon yellow cat, and curlicue font.  

Nick wasn’t a shy fellow, but when he saw the bright lights, and plush, red carpet paving the way inside, he couldn’t help but tug the brim of his hat modestly downwards; he felt very underdressed.  Still, Nicky was good people – anyone who was anyone knew that at least and so the square-jawed bouncer let him in with a nod of acknowledgement.  The Tappin’ Cat, as it turned out, was like the inside of some broad’s purse; larger than one thought and cluttered with an endless array of people and things to find fascinating escape through.  

Nick kept his eyes averted as he dodged his way through throngs of scantily clad bodies; it was obvious who this sort of establishment was meant for.  Sleek black tables dotted the vast, open area, save for the back-right corner, adjacent to the entrance; that’s where the bar was.  Wait-staff in unassuming black ensembles shuttled trays of drinks and appetizers at an industrious trot, to their sleek-suited patrons, with a skimpily dressed woman on each arm.  

On the large stage up at the front, a woman commandeered the audience with ease that would’ve been frightening, if it hadn’t been coming from such a prettily wrapped package.  The woman had a smile that reflected one’s best version of themselves, her eyes, the real jewels of the Commonwealth.  Her dress rained from her figure in a chiffon and taffeta waterfall, winking off light to the beat of the song as the woman swayed alluringly.  It was a slow piece; but that didn’t deter the booth-bound groups of people from giving wily hoots in support, as tentative, new couples, and renewed old ones clutched at each other intimately on the dancefloor. Nick couldn’t place why, but his tie suddenly felt too tight.  He raised a finger to the knot nestled at his jugular, and tugged sharply, loosening it.

_To spend one night with you in our old rendezvous, and reminisce with you  - that’s my desire._

Nick was entranced; his hands itched to clutch the way those lovers did; an urge that hadn’t held him since before Nick Valentine opened his eyes in this world.  Likewise, the singer set her eyes on him – a glowing, ambrosia beacon in a sea of adoring faces.  Yet, she searched out his.  

“Excuse me sir, can I get you something?”

A woman in one of the employee’s uniforms asked him in a low voice.

Nick turned, startled slightly as she dragged him from his dizzying dusk dreams.  

“I uh…no thanks.”

She ducked her head obediently, before turning on her heel to return to the bar, where a line of drinks in varying colors and shapely glasses awaited like suspects in a line-up.  

“Oh, wait a second doll,”

She looked back at him, her face attentive.

“Who’s the dame on stage?”

“That’s Ms. Sole; she’s a favorite over here at the Tappin’ Cat.”

“Sole,” Nick Valentine tested the name out in his mouth.  

It rolled off his tongue so smoothly, it was as if it’d been programmed into him.  The woman nodded, taking her leave when his gaze looked past her, back to Sole, who was finishing her set.  When he saw the last glimpse of pink disappear behind the curtain, he beelined towards the dark corner left of the stage, climbing the stairs and groping blindly for a railing as he too, disappeared behind the curtain.  

Much like it had been when Nick initially stepped into the Tappin’ Cat, backstage opened up into a new world in of itself.  Several people clad in the same black ensemble as the wait-staff bustled around with matching black headsets, holding clipboards and pencils, and calling various names – none of which concerned Nick.  Girls in gem-toned dresses rushed around, their hair flouncing, their eyes rimmed in dramatic black; signing off on sinful promises in uncountable dealings they had with the devils that waited for them out beyond the curtain.  Nick again found himself keeping his gaze to the floorboards; uncharacteristically clean for the Commonwealth.  When a shadowy blur flashed past him, Nick’s hand darted out to catch it.

“Ms. Sole’s dressing room, please.”

“Over there.”

Nick looked up to see a finger pointing to a door with a name plaque on it, hiding slyly behind a rack of dresses.  

_Huh, security’s as tight as a knot here,_ Nick mused to himself, as he made his way towards where the stagehand had directed him.  It was Sole’s name alright, engraved in a plaque that did a decent job at passing off as gold.  Gentleman he was, Nick knocked first.  There was rustling beyond the door, and then slipper-muffled footsteps, before it cracked open.  Recognition sparked in her familiar eyes which were every bit as inquisitive up close as they were up on stage.  Nick did his damnedest not to fall under her spell.

“Yes?”

Her voice was musical all on its own – she didn’t need accompaniment, or flashy clothing.  Nick stuffed the thought down.

“Ms. Sole?”

“Yes, that’s me,” she repeated expectantly.

“I’m Detective Valentine, could I come in and ask you a few questions?”

She paused for a few moments before the door opened all the way.

“Well I think that’d be alright,” she stepped to the side, “come on in, Detective.”

Nick entered the dressing room, trying hard not to notice how radiant Sole remained, even in just her silk robe.  Her hair fell in loose curls around her and she had scrubbed her makeup off – but her cheeks were still bright from the high of her performance.  Nick’s chest squeezed.  

The dressing room was small, forcing he and Sole into a proximity that was better suited for confidants rather than acquaintances.  She utilized the space well though, there was a wall denoted by a rack of sultry, stage gowns, a wall that served as a vanity, and a quaint sitting area all crammed into Sole’s quarters.

“Please, sit.” Sole perched at one end of the small couch, tucking her feet under her.  

On a wonderfully preserved, pre-war wooden coffee table before her, sat a steaming cup of tea.

“Can I get you something to drink?  Tea? Coffee?”

She tuned into his observant stare.

“No, thank you.”

Polite too.

Lanky as Nick was, he had to duck his head to narrowly miss bumping it on the steep wooden bannister, on his way to the couch.  He sat down on the other end of the sofa, folding his knees close to himself in order to accommodate the tight fit.

“What can I do for you?”

Sole took her mug of tea into knitted fingers, but she did not drink from it.

“I’m here regarding Channel Tosto – you know her?”

Sole nodded.

“I do.  She’s one of the other girls here.  She sings Tuesdays and Thursdays if memory serves me right.” Sole looked sharply to Nick and frowned.  “She’s not in any trouble, is she?”

“Were you two close?”

Sole’s brow furrowed, “You didn’t answer my question.” Her expression smoothed briefly – the calm before the storm, as terrible realization etched horror across her visage. “Wait, you said ‘ _were_ ’, tell me, she can’t be –“ Sole’s voice jolted in her increasing hysteria.

“Dead?  Yes, my condolences.” Nick’s tone was dry, but to his credit, he did remove his hat.

He waited a few moments as Sole’s chest heaved, and one of her hand’s moved to flutter over her sternum. Appalled gasps petered out into normalcy again.  The initial shock of murder passed quicker for some, than others might think.  Nick tried his hardest not to look coy.  Sole reached beside her at the foot of the sofa, where a pearl-embroidered clutch lay on its side.  Watching as she fished out a cigarette, and placed it between her lips with shaky fingers, Nick had his lighter at the ready.  She leaned in, and he obliged – like the world’s most practiced dance.  She took a troubled puff.

“When… _How_  did this happen?”

“Doesn’t matter, the more you tell us though, the quicker we can find closure for her.”

“Yes, right, of course.” Sole set her jaw, “You have my full cooperation.” She sighed heavily again, gathering herself.  “and no, we weren’t so close.  We worked together, maybe spoke a couple of times, but that’s about it.”

“Do you know anyone who might want to, or have any reason to hurt Ms. Tosto?”

Sole hesitated – a fact that did not go unnoticed by Nick – then she shook her head.

“No, like I said, I didn’t know her all that well.  She seemed like a sweet enough girl.”

Nick nodded coolly, his eyes lingering on Sole a moment longer.  Now she took a deep sip from her mug, her eyes fixed to the rim.  Nick would guess, so that they wouldn’t wander to him. He stood up.

“Well, let me know if you think of anything.”

Sole placed the mug back down on the table and rose to her feet as well.  An ashamed part of Nick was hyperaware of the way her robe reclaimed a portion of her shapely legs.  

“Will do, Detective.”

Her eyes were wide and gave the appearance of honesty.  Nick didn’t buy it for a second.

“And you know where to find me if you need to?  At the –“

“Heart-shaped sign in the lower stands?” she guessed, before laughing softly.  “Your name’s ‘Valentine’, and you’re well known in Diamond City – I connected the dots.”

“Right,” If Nick could feel such a thing, he thought he might be feverish – or else, perhaps he was short circuiting.  Now wouldn’t  _that_  be something?  “Well, you come find me if anything comes to mind.”

“Yes, of course.” She agreed, her voice as soft as the chilled rain outside.

They watched each other a moment longer, both never wanting him to leave, and needing him to get the hell out, all at once.  Nick turned and left, placing his hat low on his head, so that the brim fell over his eyes.

Sole knew how to make an impression alright, and she loitered stubbornly in his mind; her, that slinky little robe of hers, and those big, doe eyes.  Nick wanted to be alone with his thoughts now, and just as well.  When he returned to the Agency, Ellie had already left for the night.  Nick trailed up the stairs, and sat in the armchair; the same provocative, crimson as the red carpet and velvet curtain at the Tappin’ Cat.  He reached for the bottle of unopened bourbon sitting neatly on the side table and unscrewed it before taking a futile swig.  He waited in vain for drunkenness to find him, haunted by visions of chiffon and taffeta through the lonesome night.

_To hear you whisper low, just when it’s time to go,_ _Cherie, I love you so, that’s my desire._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The next morning, Nick headed back down to the main area of the agency, looking disheveled with his wrinkled shirt and loosened tie.  All he was missing was the massive bourbon hangover.  Ellie didn’t even bother looking at him, as he trudged down the stairs, re-cuffing the sleeves of his white dress shirt.  

“Rough night?”

“Of sorts.”

“How was the Tappin’ Cat?”

Nick’s mouth twitched, as he tapped a carton of cigarettes against his desk like he was tidying a deck of cards.  “It was something, that’s for sure.”  He shook out a breakfast cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it.

“Yeah, no doubt; it’s got that sort of feel to it.  But did you find out anything about Channel?” Ellie pressed.

“No, no – I should go back and speak to more of the girls there; she must’ve been close with  _someone_.”

A flash of Sole’s peacock blue, silk robe went through Nick’s mind, and he took a steadying drag.

“Who’d you speak to last night?” Ellie grinned – no doubt amused at the idea of an old-fashioned guy like Nick trying to get reliable information out of the sultry women that worked at the ‘Cat – all curves, and smoky eyes, and dangerous red lips stained from the hearts they carved out of men’s chests.  What were they called again?  Maneaters?  Luckily, Nick wasn’t the type to fall prey.

“Some dame named ‘Sole’.”

“Sole, huh?  Yeah, I think I know who you mean.”

“Why?” Nick asked gruffly, “She someone special?”

Ellie raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment on the apparent nerve she’d touched.  

“I’m surprised you don’t remember, she was the one who fell out of a vault a couple of years ago – Piper did a story on her.  Remember? She was frozen or something else awful.” Ellie smiled, “It’s nice that she made a career and a bit of a name for herself after all she’s been through.”

Nick allowed his memory to conjure up Sole’s image in his mind now; he studied her face – she was pretty, sure.  There were a lot of pretty dames out there, he reminded himself.  But was she honest?  Few were.  Was she  _innocent_?  No one was completely.  Most importantly though, did she kill Channel Tosto?  Nick wondered if he saw her again, if he’d be able to find a resemblance to the naïve vault dweller from a few years earlier.  

“Oh! Before I forget, you should go talk to Mr. Tosto.”  

“The husband?” Nick asked skeptically.

“Yeah, I thought it might be nice if you got to know him a bit before you jumped straight to bookin’ him.” Ellie grinned.

Nick shook his head ruefully, “I could at least buy him dinner first,” he agreed.

-

The Tosto’s house seemed a lot less daunting in the light of day, and without the haze of the rain. When Nick knocked on the door, only for a dazed looking Till Tosto to let him in, he found the same to be true about the inside – it was a lot less sinister without the corpse and gore. Nick Valentine took his hat off as he crossed the threshold to meet Till at the quaint dining room table; the man did just lose his wife after all, even if he might’ve been the one who killed her.

Till was handsome in a rather unassuming way; the posterchild for ‘just keep drinking the Kool-aid’, he was a yes-man to a fault, and while spouses were often prime suspects in their partner’s murders, Till looked like he’d faint at the first drop of the m-word. (It is worth noting that he fought adamantly against Piper’s claims of McDonough being a synth, back in the day, although he seemed to lose much of his machismo when it turned out that the mayor  _was_  a synth…)  

“Please, have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” his voice was limp, going well with the stale air in the space.  

Things tended to fall apart after such traumas, Nick paid it no mind.  

“Coffee would be swell.”

“How do you take it?”

“Your way is fine.”

Then Till and Nick were sitting across the table from each other, a mug of coffee in front of both of them.

“So, have you found anything yet, Detective?”

Nick folded his hands around his mug and his mind summoned the memory of Sole with her tea the night before.  He shooed the irreverent vision away – too soon for him to notice how he coveted her lips and the exquisite way they closed around the edge of the mug.

“How were things between you and Channel?”

Till’s eyebrows knitted together at Nick’s avoidance of his question.  “We were alright, I guess.”

Nick tried to keep his face impassive and reached into the inner pocket of his coat to procure his carton of cigarettes.  He held it out in offering to Till, who meekly accepted one as Nick took one too, digging through the same pocket for his lighter.  He lit for both of them and timed the pull of his cigarette to the other man’s.  When he looked as if enough of the edge had been knocked off, Nick propped his cigarette between his index and middle finger and leaned back in his seat, crossing an ankle over his knee.

“Just alright?  You two were married…” Nick reached his free hand into his pocket to peek at his notepad, before stuffing it back down. “August.  That was just two months ago.  Aren’t newly weds supposed to be all a-twitter with love?”

Till shrugged, taking another puff from his cigarette, his eyes glassy.  

“I dunno, money was tight. We were just…tired all the time,” his shoulders slumped.  “Nobody told us it was going to be like this.”

Nick fixed his gaze on Till; he looked fatigued.  Withdrawn, but not like a man who’d just lost the love of his life – more like a man who was down on his luck and had been for some time.

“Can you tell me?  What it was like, I mean.”

Till frowned, his gaze focusing, but not on anything Nick could see.

“Stressful.  We both were constantly tired; I worked days maintaining the wall with Abbott.  She worked nights at the Tappin’ Cat, we never saw each other,” he recounted bitterly; the first discernable emotion Nick caught since arriving, “and when we did? It was just…” Till slumped again, recalling his and his wife’s final days together; it spent him of what little give he had left.  “Things were just different.”

“Bills. Responsibilities.  Kills the fairytale a bit.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it.”

The two men smoked thoughtfully for a few moments.  Nick took this needed quiet and made segue.  

“Now, tell me a bit more about your girl’s job – at the Tappin’ Cat.  Y’know what she did there?”

Till nodded, listless again.

“She was a singer.”

“Did you approve of her job?”

Till paused now, thoughtful.

“Didn’t much matter either way, like I said, times were –  _are_ , tough.”

“Did you know anyone she worked with?  Anyone she might’ve buddied up with at work, you know, to get through the day, or what have you?”

Till thought again before shaking his head.

“No, I never even went up to the ‘Cat to hear her sing.  Wasn’t really my scene.”

Nick gave an honest chuckle.

“I hear ya there, kid.”

Till attempted a meager smile, but it fell into a lopsided grimace.

“Say, humor me a moment – ya know of a dame called ‘Sole’?”

Nick didn’t know what came over him to make him ask that, but in the next moment he was glad it did. Till visibly recoiled at the sound of her name.

“Sole?  Oh, yeah, I know her alright.” He scoffed.

Nick was intrigued, disgust readily pulled Till from whatever rut he had previously been stuck in.

“The better question is, who doesn’t know her?”

Animosity, sudden and surprising to the synth, swept through him.  He stabbed the end of his cigarette into the ash tray serving as the table’s miserable centerpiece in recompense.  

“The type of girl to get around, huh?” the words tasted bitter on Nick’s tongue; he had to stop himself from cringing.

“That’s one way to put it. I wouldn’t know too much though – I’d never step a toe out of line, and it drove her nuts.”

“She was sweet on you?”

“That’s an  _understatement_.  She was always trying to get me to herself and she didn’t care who was around – not even Channel!”  Till’s eyes widened, scandalized by what was already old hat to him.

“And Channel just…let her?” Nick asked.

Meanwhile his mind reeled with scenes of his own creation; ones that’d make Nick’s stomach churn, had he one – Sole battering her eyes girlishly at Till, Sole draped over Till, her hand curling delicately against his chest.  Nick’s jaw clenched.

“Oh, my wife was livid, but I always told her, ‘Honey’ I said, ‘you married a decent man, and that means I won’t step out on you no matter how pretty the next broad to come along is.’” Till said insistently, sitting up a bit straighter.

“Right.  You’re a real catch.” Nick said dryly.

Till rubbed the back of his neck; the only modest thing about him as he puffed his chest out pridefully.

“What can I say?  Some guys, we’re just born with the whole package.”

Nick’s fingers clamped down on his thighs; if he were flesh and blood, he suspected his degloved hand would’ve drawn blood.

“So, just to clarify Mr. Tosto, you declined Ms. Sole’s advances?”

“Yeah – through my experiences the prettier they are, the more –“ he raised his finger so that it was pointing to his temple, and swirled it around, “you know, I’m sure you know, Mr. Valentine.”

“ _Detective_.” Nick looked sharply at the man, seemingly revived by his own greatness. “and sure, I know.” He added begrudgingly.

“and Sole is…” Till let out a low whistle, “so I knew she had to be coocoo.  Can’t trust a thing that one says.”

Nick pushed away from the table and rose to his feet.  The chair scraped unwittingly against the worn wood of the floor; something else sour lingered in the air.

“Well, I best be going. Thank you for your time Mr. Tosto.”

At Nick’s departing figure, Till scrambled to his own feet, and hurried to catch up with the synth.

“Are you going to talk to her?”

This stopped Nick in his tracks.

“Who?  Sole?  Why?” Nick appraised the man, “is that an issue?”

Till clapped Nick on the back.  It rattled him, emphasizing the emptiness of the gesture.

“No, of course not – you’re the cop after all.”

_Detective, damnit.  It’s synth_ detective, Nick thought venomously.

“It’s just uh, well, like I said, can’t trust a thing that one says.”

“Sure, son, I get it.” Nick offered sardonically.  It was the most he could offer after spending an hour with Till Tosto.

“Good, good.” Till took it none the less.  He lingered with Nick a moment longer at the door, before stepping away.  

Nick’s stare never faltered as he watched Till retreat, the door cutting off his last parting words.

“You take care of yourself, Mr. Valentine.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Nick narrowed his eyes distrustfully, but the door had already shut.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Along the perimeters of Diamond City, nestled upwards of even the upper stands, was  _Gundruna’s_ ; a high-end eatery that served as probably the only sit-down restaurant in the Commonwealth that didn’t qualify as a ‘bar’. Similar to the Tappin’ Cat, it spared no expense when it came to glitz.  Their sign, to compensate for not being the most famous, was perhaps the brightest;  _GUNDRUNA’S_  in bold, marque lettering, traced over in a sequence of brilliant light-bulbs.  Nick ventured that the thing must’ve guzzled about enough energy to power a small settlement.  There was a red carpet leading into this establishment as well, only instead of just creating the illusion of exclusiveness, it enforced it.  The bouncers dressed in similar attire to the DC Guard, only instead of the dirt-dappled, grass-stained swatter uniforms, they were done up in all black; a heavy-duty version of their cross-town sister establishment.  Gundruna’s also policed the rampant throngs of people that lined up in hopes of getting a walk-in one way or another with a series of swanky looking velvet-roped stanchions; where the owner had found such pre-war frivolities, Nick couldn’t guess.

Nick had called in just about every favor he had in the book to get a table there that night; and it turned out that a lot of people owed him.  Sole glided up the winding, metal stairs, dainty fingers snatching the skirt of her dress safely above the ground.  Her hair was curled and set, her skin was with a faintly glittering sheen that made her sparkle under the flashy lights.  Sole’s dress hugged her form; enticingly enough to seize the attention of everyone in the room, but tastefully enough that it garnered only the respectful sort of comments from anyone who mattered.  The fabric looked as expensive as the woman who wore it; a luxurious, emerald satin, with a sweetheart neckline.  Its elegance was nuanced by a waist that was taken in and embellished with a large, matching, satin bow.  Those waiting in line watched her in her radiance, their jaws dropped like a trout’s, and their eyes like the fine dinner plates they probably wouldn’t be seeing that night.  Nick took off his hat reverently as she approached him; he was grateful that the masses looked starstruck enough for him, that he didn’t need to trade in any of his pride for flattery that she probably collected in spares.  She slipped her arms through his, clutching delicately at his arm with her own gloved ones (green satin – just like the dress) and they disappeared inside.  

“Nick Valentine, you sure know how to show a girl a good time,” Sole sighed dreamily as the foyer opened up into a small, intimate room.  It was draped almost exclusively in the same regal crimson the red-carpet, and velvet stanchions were made of, as if they were eating dinner inside a wealthy man’s pocket.  

“You just wait until I start asking the tough questions,” Nick warned, but without vitriol.  He couldn’t stop his mouth from quirking into a small smile.

All in all, there were only about five tables in total, all draped in immaculate white table cloths, and bathed in tender candle light.  No wonder it was so exclusive; there was no way to fit more than ten people in the small space without cramming them in like sardines.  About three of the tables were taken already with other snappily dressed couples, though if Nick were being honest, those other dolls couldn’t hold a candle to the one on his arm.  

The maître d’ led them to a more secluded corner of the restaurant, where a table dressed like all the others was half tucked beneath a sweeping red curtain, tied neatly out of their way.  The other half had a paneled window for a wall that allowed for a view of Diamond City so alluring, Nick Valentine himself couldn’t help but fall in love with the dingy, rat-hole city again.  The maître d’ filled two thin wine glasses with an oaky merlot, before leaving them to put in two dinner orders to the kitchen.  Gundruna’s was one of those places that was so prestigious, it could get away with certain eccentricities, like only having five tables, and serving only what the carefully curated chefs were inspired to cook that night.  

Nick pulled out Sole’s chair for her, before removing his coat and taking his place across the table from her.  While he had donned his trademark coat and hat tonight, Nick had dressed in a neatly pressed shirt for the occasion, as well as a clean black suit.  His tie was knotted meticulously at the base of his throat, and he’d even managed to scrounge up a tie-clip on such short notice. Sole delicately picked up the thin stem of her wine glass, and Nick palmed his own.  

“To  _friendships_ , old and new.”

The way Sole said it stripped the word of its meaning.  Had Nick had a heart, it might’ve stopped.

“To answers,” Nick remarked back, his eyes burning into Sole’s.

Sole watched him for a few moments, the stare was clinical - methodical perhaps.  Like she was studying an opponent and was gearing up to predict his next move.  Then she laughed; a real honest laugh, rather than one of those commercial giggles laden with ulterior motives, that Nick hated so much.  It was enough to draw sharp a look from another patron who was barely visible from where they sat.  

“To answers then,” she beamed, “many, many answers.  And questions,” her eyes flashed, “many,  _many_  questions.”

It was a small enough table that they hadn’t ditched their proximity from their encounter the night before.  Nick suspected this should’ve bothered him more.  There was silence as they both took a sip from their glasses.

“So Nicky, I take it this isn’t purely a social call?”

He was so entranced with the delicate lip prints she’d left on the glass, that the fact she’d called him ‘Nicky’ flew right over his head.  

“That’s right, I needed to see you again.”

Sole leaned forward, hooked and ready to be reeled in, so long as he talked more of  _needing_  her, that is.  Nick cleared his throat, strangely enthralled as his imagination relished dismantling the context.

“I spoke to Mr. Tosto, he seemed to have a lot to say about you.”

“Hm, yes he certainly must’ve given you a lot to think about.”

Nick leaned in himself, resting his forearms on the table.  Candle flame tossed a gentle light at Sole’s face; the glossy sheen to her skin glittered in small fractals – she didn’t look as if she wore diamonds, she looked as if she  _was_  diamond.  He could count each lash at this distance, had he the will to do something other than watch her right now.  He clung to her words before they’d even left her mouth.  Strangely enough, as the distance between he and Sole lessened, the urge to close it fully grew more intense, as if they were two magnets that were finally in position to pull at each other.

“But tell me Nick – what have you made of me?”

“My job’s not to make ‘something’ from ‘nothing’, I’m no magician, doll.  I take what people give me and form my own conclusions that way.”

“And if you can’t trust what people give you?”

“Is this you denying what Till said?”

Sole’s eyes fell downwards, watching her own fingers as they broke away from their guarded stance on the table, peeling away from where her forearms were folded similarly to Nick’s. Nick found himself unable to look away as well, although he’d have to be a dope not to know where it was going. She certainly made him feel like one.  Sole’s fingers reached over to skim lightly along the frame of Nick’s bad hand.  His first instinct was to jerk it away, but then Sole’s hand folded warmly over it and a new instinct took over.  

“I’m saying, trust what your instincts tell you, not someone else’s spite.” Sole’s voice was soft like a whisper, and it only made him want to lean in further, to ensure that he hadn’t missed anything.  

He was surprised at the bitterness that edged it; the first real discord she’d shown since Nick had brought up Till.  So she knew about his allegations, but seemed more concerned with whether or not he believed them.  Silence fell again, but Sole never pulled away.  Nick’s good hand itched for the same sort of company his other one had, but memories of Channel’s corpse, limbs spread around her in a sort of dreadful arabesque kept it obediently still.  Till’s warning buzzed hollowly at the back of Nick’s mind, like a static-ridden radio during the late-night broadcast.   _Can’t trust a thing that one says._  Nick studied the way his metal thumb stroked gently over one of Sole’s knuckles.  He was actively reciprocating now – he doubted it was Sole’s  _words_ that would be his downfall.

The maître d’ returned with two plates, a brahmin fillet in portions better suited for children than two adults, on each one, embellished with a sprig of bloodleaf, and an artistic drizzle of a sauce Nick couldn’t place.  The spell at the table broke the moment the plates touched the table. Sole reclaimed her hand from Nick’s to accommodate the spread, and Nick reluctantly retracted his own.  The clock had struck midnight and now his bad hand was just his bad hand, once again.  The maître d’ left them to their meal, and Nick eyed the way Sole’s knife cut into the tender meat.

“That going to be enough? Granted, I’m not as familiar with hunger as you are, but that doesn’t look like a very fulfilling meal.”

The corner of Sole’s mouth twitched into a rueful smile.

“You didn’t get the memo? You fill up mostly on good company. Dinner’s more of a dessert.”

Nick chuckled.  “That still brings me back to my original question; ‘that going to be enough?”

Sole broke out into a toothy grin.  Her hands were still busy with the silverware and so she couldn’t coyly raise one to cover the authenticity in the little gesture.  She settled for ducking her head shyly.

“Why, I could hardly eat another bite.”

-

Nick Valentine was still trying to convince himself that the post-Gundruna’s glow he was basking in the next day, was strictly professional as his mind replayed Sole in that damned dress of hers again and again.  Like a broken record player; the needle would drag the feeling of her fingers tracing along his hand, out from his memory, or else maybe the provocative smear of her lipstick on the wine glass as the merlot lapped at the sides; there was no telling where the drink ended and Sole began.  Nick was beginning to see this mirrored in his swimming memories of her; where did Sole’s connection to the Channel Tosto case end, and their personal relationship begin?  Nick was pondering this very thing when Naja Ryba burst into the Valentine Detective Agency, her face a puffed red in her rage, her nostrils flaring in a seething tempo. Trailing meekly behind her, was a stone-faced Till.

Ellie flinched away from her typewriter, the letters at the tips of her fingers scattered as Naja’s entrance seized both of their attentions with bewildering ferocity.  Nick was startled onto his feet, and upon the realization that it was this small, woman who was the source of such a disturbance, face twisted up in fury, his mouth turned downwards in express discontent.

“ _You thieving, conniving, hunk of junk_ ,” she spat venomously, without giving him a chance to address them.

Naja stalked towards Nick, stabbing her finger into his chest.  The synth in him was no stranger to outrage, and the detective in him was well acquainted with distraught individuals.  Nick waited patiently for her to run out of poison to hurl his way.

“My daughter’s dead and what’s more, you’re out fraternizing with the tramp who stole the family ring,” Naja scoffed bitterly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she wound up being the  _killer_  – but it makes no difference to you, does it?”

Nick felt a bubbling defensiveness well in him – while he hadn’t quite deciphered the ways he was drawn to the accused, he understood enough to know that such vigorous guardedness meant Naja was probably talking about Sole.  

“Hey!” Ellie scolded in her own fit of rage “just where do you get off-“

“Ellie,” Nick chided, “it’s fine.”

“ _Ha_! ‘Fine’ you say, tell that to poor Channel, laying six feet under, stiff as a-“

Nick turned back to Naja.

“You’re Channel’s mother?”

“Yeah, I am,” Naja crossed her arms over her chest, the distress in her frown so potent, Nick had half a mind that it might tear through her time-creased complexion like tissue paper.

“Now, what’s this about a missing ring?” Nick spoke deliberately and carefully, like approaching a skittish ragstag.  In all fairness, Naja Ryba was probably as dangerous as one.

“Channel’s wedding ring – it was missing from her corpse, right?  Well, Sole has it, and we want it back.  It’s been in Till’s family for generations!” Naja jabbed her thumb backwards as she referenced her son-in-law, who nodded mutely in support.

“Why do you think Sole took it?”

“I  _know_  she took it – she always envied my Channel for being with Till.  She wanted him for herself, and the ring is just another way for her to  _sink_  her claws into him.”  Naja hissed the last part through barred teeth.

Nick looked to Till now, as his processors mimicked the sensation of a sinking stomach.  

“Till?  What do you think?”

“Yeah, she’s a crazy broad – I already told you, she can’t be trusted.  It definitely wouldn’t be below her to steal Channel’s ring.” Till agreed, although he didn’t sound so convinced.

“So we’re not sure Sole took it.”

“Sure?  Oh, let’s  _make_ sure.” Naja said placidly, before spinning on her heel, and leaving the Agency.

Nick didn’t need to be a detective to guess where she was going.

“Damn,” he muttered before hurrying after her, not bothering to grab his coat in his haste.  

The air had chilled as the sun plucked its warming rays from the sky in its descent below the horizon. If evening was approaching, it meant that Sole was probably already at the ‘Cat, preparing for the night’s show. He set off in an urgent-paced gait, weaving expertly between the people milling about the city.  By the time he’d managed to slip backstage and reached Sole’s dressing room, a girl Nick didn’t recognize was already warming up the stage for Sole – and Naja was banging a bony fist against the door.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

A frustrated ‘Sshh!’ sounded from a shadow-dampened corner beyond the ropes and pullies, and then the door creaked open as it had the night Nick met Sole, revealing a sliver of her in that very same silk robe.  The door immediately shut.

Naja gasped loudly, appalled at such blatant rudeness (and unaware of the astounding irony).  She looked sharply to Nick, who hated his own role in such a witch hunt.  He stepped past Naja and Till, sighing deeply though he had no lungs to strain.  He knocked his polite, restrained knock.

“Sole?”

“Go away – I told you, I’m done with you Naja.  Done.”

“Sole, open up, it’s me, doll.”

Nick kept his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns ingrained in the wood, feigning ignorance to deflect Naja’s spiteful glare.  The door creaked open again.

“Nick?  What’s going on?”

He couldn’t see enough of her face to see her expression, but her voice made him sure that her brow was furrowed, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip at the signs of trouble.  The door opened fully to confirm his theory.

“Mrs. Ryba and Mr. Tosto are here regarding…their suspicions about a ring-“

“I know you stole it, now give it here.” Naja demanded.  

“I already told you, I don’t have it.” Sole retorted coldly.  “I don’t want your hand-me-downs  _or_  your sloppy seconds.”  Her gaze flicked to Till, who flushed, and then to Nick, whose shame had no means of showing on his face.  “But, if you really don’t believe me, search the room, tear it apart for all I care – you won’t find a thing.”

Nick stepped to the side to allow a triumphant Naja march into the room, followed again by Till. The pair began rummaging through Sole’s things, tossing the room in disarray.  Sole stood by Nick, her mouth pinched up; a modest cork to bottle up her rage.  Nick kept his eyes cast on his toes, and despite him not having had a childhood, he felt like he could emphasize what a scolded child might feel like right about then. It had only taken a few minutes of pawing through the arrangement of jewelry on Sole’s vanity for Naja to hold up her hand.

“Aha –  _thief_.”

If Naja was trying to contain the gloating on her face, she had failed miserably.  Raw disappointment lodged itself in Nick’s throat – a throbbing brute of a mass – as he fixed his eyes on Naja’s fingers, pinched around the dainty, sterling-silver band that housed a generous diamond.  It was unmistakable in its rarity – the Tosto’s were one of the few who owned a genuine pre-war engagement ring, and this one shared a striking resemblance to the one that Channel had proudly displayed on her left hand’s fourth finger.  Nick whipped around to look at Sole.  One of her arms had wrapped around her torso; a feeble attempt to comfort herself, as the other pressed tersely to her mouth.  Her face contorted in denial, as fresh as Nick’s disappointment.  

“That’s impossible…” she murmured, though Nick strongly suspected she wasn’t speaking to anyone in the room.  “I didn’t…there’s no way…”

“But you so obviously  _did_ ,” Naja growled, shaking the ring in Sole’s face – all but throwing it at her.

Then all eyes were on Nick, expectant and pleading.  For the first time, Nick Valentine found himself hating his job.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

“Let’s go Sole,” Nick finally said.

Her eyes widened, and for a moment she opened her mouth as if she were about to protest, but then it snapped shut.  She nodded mutely and followed obediently.  Nick didn’t think it necessary to make a scene with the DC Guard or cuffs.  Naja’s smug expression turned sour again, as she watched Sole follow Nick out of the dressing room.  Sole reached to tug on Nick’s sleeve.

“I should let them know that I’ll be going – I’m supposed to go on in twenty,” she said quietly.

Nick nodded, “Go ahead.”

Sole went to a stagehand who was peering through a gap in the curtains, clipboard in hand, and Naja took the opportunity to pull Nick aside.

“Are you taking her downtown now?”

Nick raised what would’ve been his eyebrows.

“Are you booking her?  She’s going to jail, right?  I want the record to show that I’d like to press charges.”

Nick fought to keep a straight face.

“She’ll be dealt with, you can go now.”

“But I –“

“ _Thank you_ , Mrs. Ryba, I’ve got it handled from here.”

When Sole returned, Nick took the opportunity to excuse himself, ignoring Naja’s indignant look as he did so.  Wordlessly, he and Sole left the Tappin’ Cat.  The metal platform of the stairs leading to ground level clanged in a cacophony of their lazy footfalls.  The sun had completely set by now, and the smattering of stars did little to comfort Sole, whose mouth was downturned into a prominent frown.  Even in her current sorry state, she was radiant, bathed in moonlight.  Her makeup and hair had already been done up, in anticipation of her set for the evening.  Even though she was still in her robe, she looked as if everything in the cosmos had aligned perfectly, and placed her exactly at this moment, in this arrangement, for him to admire.   Nick mentally kicked himself at the inappropriateness of the intrusive thoughts, and he was still kicking himself when he and Sole arrived back at the Agency, not a word dropped between the two of them since the search at the ‘Cat.

“Nick! Welcome –“ Ellie began chipperly, but her voice faltered as her gaze fell to Sole, who trailed abashedly behind the detective. 

“Hey Ellie,” he offered her a small smile, “why don’t you take the night off?”

Ellie’s gaze flicked suspiciously from Nick to Sole and then back again.

“Oh, alright, thank you.” She smiled politely, before gathering her own coat from the back of her chair.

Her files for the day were still left on her desk, and her typewriter was still loaded with a half sheet of paper that curled up and over the edge, but she’d figured Nick’s sudden offer was born of a need to be alone with Sole, rather than purely the generosity of his metaphorical heart.

“Goodnight Nick.  You too, Miss…”

“Sole.” Sole finished, her face unreadable.

“Sole, then.  Good night.”

“’Night.”

“G’night El,” Ellie disappeared out the door, and Nick turned to Sole.  Her eyes were trained on him, as he reached around her to pull up his own chair.  “Please, sit.”

Sole obliged. 

Nick perched on the edge of his desk, long legs stretched out at an angle.  He reached into his trouser pockets to procure a lighter and a cigarette.  He offered one to Sole first, before sticking one between his lips, and lighting for the both of them.  The harsh rigidness seemed to leech from her body with each temperate puff she took.  Nick took a long drag of his own and watched her.  The hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette to her lips was wrapped guardedly across her torso.  He tried not to think too much of the fact that she was just in that skimpy, little robe, and a pair of dingy, canvas shoes.  This proved to be very difficult given just how thin the robe was.  He cleared his throat before getting up and heading towards the coat rack.  At the sound of rustling movement, Sole’s gaze snapped back to Nick.  He’d grabbed his coat and held it open by the shoulders, turning towards Sole, he gave it a couple of hearty shakes; _here._

“Oh,” Sole flushed, the gesture surfacing her own awareness of her skimpy attire.  “Thank you,” she murmured as she got up and placed her arms through the sleeves, switching cigarette hands as needed, so that Nick could ease the garment up her arms and over her shoulders. 

Neither of them dared to look at each other, the thinness of her robe’s fabric feeling all too noticeable now that they were scrambling to cover it up.  The garment swallowed Sole as she tugged it closed around her.  Nick hated the pleasure he took in watching her don his coat.  He pulled his cigarette away and blew out a steady stream of smoke.

“So,” he began when Sole was settled back in his chair.  He resumed his place at the edge of his desk.  “Did you do it?”

“Does it matter?” Sole asked bleakly.

This Sole seemed so different from the woman he’d met at the Tappin’ Cat, she was less playful than the one he’d taken to dinner.  As their layered circumstances peeled back her glamorous shell, Nick was enthralled with what he saw.  Each layer gave another piece of this striking woman to him, and as these pieces fell into place, Nick found himself liking the picture they made more and more.  _There’s been a murder.  She could’ve murdered a young woman,_ Nick repeated in his mind, although the words felt cheap as they flowed down his river of thought; just marks on paper, they held nothing for him.  Nonetheless, he waited for her to elaborate.

“They already found the ring in my room – that’s pretty damning evidence, regardless of the truth.”

Nick nodded, “It doesn’t look good, but that doesn’t change the fact that if you didn’t do it, you didn’t do it.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that whether or not I did it, I might wind up in jail anyways, if not worse.” Sole countered dryly.

Nick frowned, “It matters to me.”

Silence fell between them for a few moments; Nick willed his words to pierce flesh and bone, willed her to understand.  Sole’s gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers knitting together troubledly now that the butt of her cigarette was laying in an ashtray on Nick’s desk.  The clock on Ellie’s desk marked the passing of seconds in its marching _ticks_.

“You say the truth matters to you,” Sole began, her voice barely above a whisper.  Nick leaned in.  “but what if I’m found guilty?  What if I _am_ guilty?” she looked up at him.  “You’re right – it doesn’t change a thing for me, but what about you?”

Nick swallowed tersely, before crushing the end of his own cigarette into the ashtray.  She wasn’t talking about sentencing anymore.

“ _Are_ you guilty?” Nick asked, although he wasn’t certain it changed a thing for him either.

Sole looked away.

“No, I’m not.” She whispered.  “Not of any of it.”

Nick sighed in relief; because really, nothing had changed between them, and now he didn’t have to bother feeling guilty that the woman who killed Channel Tosto was also the woman who took his midnight train of thought in his painstaking, sleepless nights.

“Then I’ll find out who really did it.” He vowed.

Sole smiled at him; and it carried the same sort of quality the toothy one had in Gundruna’s – honest, and secret, made just for him.  Nick found himself smiling back, and he was a little disappointed when his machine whirring never stumbled in its ceaseless rhythmic clicking, to match the lustrous affection he felt for her.  Still though, it was hard to concern himself with such a small detail when Sole was here, in his chair, and wearing his coat, smiling at _him_.  Nick had half a mind to grab her hand again, and his metal one itched with a flesh and blood need to be held.

-

It was half past ten when Nick walked Sole home.  He was surprised to hear that she lived in the lower stands as well, and they walked the sparsely lit path back towards the wall, the tin-sided buildings of Diamond City dressed up in their shadow suits, their neon signs peeking out into the night like brilliant, illuminating pocket squares.  Sole and Nick walked at a comfortable pace, Sole still wearing Nick’s coat, and Nick still wearing the optimism that came from their brief questioning.  Their voices rang out down the empty, winding walkway – and both secretly committed the mingled sound fondly to their memories.  Sole glowed with renewed energy, the incident regarding the ring earlier, almost forgotten, like how the sun rose each morning to ward away all traces of the night before.  Now when Sole smiled at him, she beamed, the bright spots at her cheeks hadn’t moved the entire time she was with Nick.

“Well, here we are,” Sole sighed, looking slightly crestfallen.  She turned so that her back was up against the front door, her hand on the knob behind her as she looked up at Nick.  “Would you…like to come in?”

Nick had been prepared to say ‘no’; he was an old-fashioned guy.  To be with her at _this_ time, with her wearing _that_ , and every lifted instinct in him rearing towards her wantingly – perhaps not flesh and blood, but certainly all man.  That’s why he was completely astonished when what came from his mouth was ‘yes’. 

He stepped into her home and felt himself invigorated as her scent washed around him; hubflowers and cigarettes.  The lantern glow painted the small space in a cozy wash of yellow light, and Nick removed his hat when he found Sole nestled in an armchair, still wearing his jacket.  The scene was so painfully domestic, Nick felt a throbbing ache in his chest as vividly as if he’d had a beating heart inside of him.

Sole smiled sheepishly at him.

“I didn’t mean to…this wasn’t an attempt to…” her cheeks flared, “I’m not trying to…do anything unsavory, I just…didn’t want to be alone right now,”

Nick nodded, feeling himself wilt a little on the inside.

“Of course doll, I hear ya.”

“and you just have this way of making me feel safe,” she admitted. 

Sole fidgeted, uncomfortable with the weight of her truth.  Nick felt himself ‘unwilt’.  He rather liked feeling like her protector – although he’d never admit it aloud.

“You _are_ safe,” he reassured her with unabashed tenderness.

“Until you leave,” she grimaced, “and then whoever’s out there… _hunting_ women…” she shuddered.

“Slow down there,” Nick knelt by the arm of the chair.  “There’s only been one murder – he’s not hunting women, he hunted _a_ woman - until we have reason to believe otherwise.”

He watched Sole’s face, still creased with worry.

“Plus, I don’t need to leave if you’re scared.” He felt he was a bit too eager in his offer.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly – “ Sole’s ears and neck reddened.

“It’s no trouble at all; stakeouts are a part of the job.” He reassured her.

The excuse was flimsy, but Sole would’ve taken anything Nick gave her at that point.  This fact alone exhilarated him.

“Well, alright then,” her lips curved into a small smile, “I suppose I’ll go off to bed then, if that’s okay with you…”

“It’s why I’m here.”

Neither of them picked at the blatant lie.

She stood, and eased his coat back over her shoulders, folding it neatly over her arm before handing it back to him.  Nick averted his eyes at her bareness but couldn’t help but be hyperaware of the way the thin material clung to her curves.  Having him here all to herself made Sole brave, wearing his jacket, and being under his protection had given her a fleeting sense of invincibility.  It was the courage she found in him that allowed her to stretch up onto her tippy toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Good night, Nick.”

Nick cleared his throat, his good hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“’Night doll – sleep well.”

She climbed the stairs with practiced silence, looking back over her shoulder at him one last time before rounding the dark corner.  Nick took his place in the armchair where Sole had been sitting and busied himself with replaying her kiss in his mind.  It was about an hour after he’d memorized the feel of her lips on him, her flowery scent carved into him like he was trying to infuse it with his very essence, when there was a sharp rap at the door.  Nick leapt to his feet; he didn’t get adrenaline rushes, as he had no hormones, but the steady whirr inside him flecked alarmed impulses through him as he roused himself into a hyper-vigilant state. 

He froze, listening intently for the intruder to out themselves again, but no such sign came.  When Nick had waited what felt like an eternity in the stunned, late night silence, he crept to the front door, careful to shift his weight in a way that wouldn’t creak the floorboards.  When he opened the door, the outside was an inky sliver first, before he deemed it safe enough to further open the door – a habit he’d picked up from Sole.  It was silent outside, save for the distant chatter of Diamond City nightlife that carried into the residential area.  Nick poked his head out and looked both ways – he was alone with the porch light, and a shoebox left on the doorstep.  It was like he was neck-deep in ice water.  The parcel hadn’t been there when he and Sole had stepped in earlier.  With another quick glance to either side, Nick snatched it up, before retreating back inside and shutting the door firmly, latching it.

He took the box to the kitchen table; it was just a pre-war shoe box, somehow still intact, save for the peeling outer layer; a faded teal, stamped with some word ending with bold, black -TER in a font one would be hard pressed to find in the Commonwealth these days.  It was heavy, but in an unbalanced way – there was something, or some _things_ in there that were sturdy, and Nick could feel them rolling around with the tilt of the box as he set it down.  He took a deep breath, thinking of Sole who was sleeping soundly upstairs – whatever was in the box, he’d deal with it.  He steeled himself, and then lifted the lid.  Something akin to dread fell on him, and he was glad he’d readied himself to stifle whatever reaction sprang up on him upon seeing the contents. 

Sitting in the box, were two hearts, a mottled plum and light pink.  They sat stewing in a collection of blood that dribbled around the box and seeped into the walls, albeit not enough to leak yet.  Such a kill was recent, and the drop off?  Even more so.  Nick was no doctor, but they looked about the right size to be human hearts.  That’s two potential victims.  He’d have to confirm with Dr. Sun tomorrow.  As he willed himself to think analytically, and not of what might’ve happened if he hadn’t been here, something caught his eye on the inside of the box lid.  In a dried, crusted version of the crimson that pooled in the box, was a smeary

C R O O K E D

It was painted in a messy way that might’ve reminded Nick of a child’s finger paintings, had the context not been so sinister.  Nick shut the box firmly – he was itching with eagerness to pursue such a lead – related to the Tosto murder or not, such a threat seemed adequately backed enough for him to intervene.  Still though, he couldn’t leave Sole here…and to bring her with would’ve been inappropriate, not to mention, the parcel was delivered to her house, which meant that such a morbid message (whatever it was trying to say, although Nick would venture, nothing good) was meant for Sole.  Given how the door had sounded just a mere ten minutes before, the messenger was probably still out there, and if Nick was sure about anything in this moment, it was that he didn’t want to bring Sole out while that stood true.  He turned back to the armchair, to resume his night watch – whatever had happened, it wasn’t going to be solved tonight anyways.  For now, he would keep his watch for Sole – he’d promised her, after all.  Then tomorrow, under the safety of daylight, they would return to the Agency, and show Ellie this new development.  The kiss felt like it had happened a million years ago, as Nick sat in the dark, with just the orange ring of his smoldering cigarette glowing in the dark.  He fixed his eyes on the heart-box and remained that way until morning edged its way across the Commonwealth sky.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The next morning, Sole shambled into the kitchen, her hair mussed.  Nick was scanning the latest edition of the  _Publick Occurrences_ , over a hot cup of coffee.  Across from the table was another one, the steam lifting from the surface like fog in the morning.  The heart-box sat as a macabre centerpiece on the quaint dining room table.

“’Morning,” she smiled sleepily at him.

“Good morning,” he folded the newspaper and placed it on the table.

Sole took her place across from him and knitted her fingers around the mug.  Nick took a sip from his own out of habit rather than need and watched Sole draw heat into her muscles, still cold from their prolonged stillness.  

“Did you sleep well?”

She tucked a lock of hair shyly behind her ear and Nick caught a glimpse of that smile again.

“I did, thank you.  How was your night?”

“Could’ve gone worse,” Nick replied carefully.

“Good,” her gaze flicked to the shoe box, her hand following quickly in its wake.  “What’s this?  Did I get a package?”

Quick as a whip, Nick rose to his feet, his hand firmly holding the lid of the shoe box closed right as Sole’s fingers attempted to lift it.

“It’s uh,” he cleared his throat, “nothing to concern yourself with, but we should head over to the Agency after breakfast.”

Sole’s brow furrowed, “Did something happen last night?  What’s in the box?” her fingers tried futilely to pry the lid up, but Nick’s fingers remained steadfast. “I want to know.”

“Don’t worry about it doll, let’s discuss it when we get back to the Agency.”

Sole frowned, and Nick was relieved when she dropped the matter.  Nick took up the paper again; Channel Tosto’s face was on the cover, and further down Sole’s own picture appeared, under the bold black font –  _CABARET CATTINESS ENDS IN PERIL?_   Nick made a mental note to tell Piper to cool it with the sensationalized headlines.  Sole sipped her coffee in a sulky manner, and Nick kept the box in his peripheral vision, his hand that turned idly at the newspaper pages half-rearing towards the box – if Sole made another attempt to open it, he’d be sure to stop it.  

When the mugs were empty save for the dribbled, brown, crescent moons at the bottoms, he waited patiently by the door as Sole dressed, the heart-box stuffed snuggly beneath his arm.  He was halfway through his cigarette when she slunk down the stairs.  Today she was wearing a red and white checkered blouse that tied at the waist, with a beige skirt that penciled in to her knees, she had also run a brush through her hair.  It dawned on Nick then that he’d never before seen her like this; just dripping with extravagance, or in that teeny, little robe that left very little to the imagination. Even his wildest fantasies couldn’t have conjured up the image of her today in her full prettiness.

“What?” she asked when she caught his stare.

He chuckled around his cigarette.  So, she still hadn’t forgiven him for his secrecy.

“You know, for such a lovely girl, you sure know how to hold a grudge.”

She glared at him, although Nick didn’t miss the way her lips quirked upwards as she ducked past him and out the door.

-

“Morning!” Ellie called from her desk as they stepped into the Valentine Detective Agency.

“’Morning El,”

“Good morning.”

Ellie watched as Nick held the door open for Sole, who stepped carefully inside.  She shot a suggestive grin to Nick when Sole’s back was turned. Nick pretended like he didn’t see it either.

“So, what are we up to today?” Ellie prompted, eyeing the shoe box.

Nick handed it to his secretary, “We uh –  _careful, it’s a bit shocking_  - received a strange package last night.”

Ellie lifted the lid the smallest bit as he spoke, flinching backwards a beat too late to heed his warning. Nick stepped strategically to the side when Sole attempted to peek around him and into the box.  Ellie shut it firmly and set it on her desk, looking considerably paler, her cheeks tinged a clammy green.

“Ah, I see.” She said weakly.

“Yeah, sorry to startle you, precious.  We wanted to see what you had to say about it though.”

“What I have to  _say_  about it?” Ellie’s eyes went side, before she laughed dryly, “I say that the freak who did this might have something else twisted planned for Sole.”

For the first time since she’d seen it, Sole shrank away from the box.  Nick grimaced but wasn’t surprised.  

“Yeah,” he sighed, “that’s what I was afraid of.”  He turned towards Sole, who had grabbed idly at the sleeve of his coat when Ellie had shared her horrifying analysis.  “Well, it’s up to you, but I think I should stay with you again – at least until we find whoever did this.”

“Alright.”

“Again?”

Sole and Ellie spoke at the same time, the former’s voice resigned, the latter’s matching the surprise in her expression.

“Then it’s settled, plus if your… _admirer_ , decides to send any more gifts, I’ll be able to catch it in real time.”

Ellie watched as Sole clutched at Nick’s arm.  Nick looked pensive, and the cigarette braced between his lips had somehow become whole again, the formerly empty ashtray mysteriously carrying ashes and a cigarette butt now.  Good thing he was a gen-2, Ellie thought amusedly, there was no way his lungs would be able to bear the stress of his job otherwise.

“Perhaps you should have Dr. Sun…verify, your evidence.” Ellie suggested, her eyes narrowed as she referenced the contents of the box.

“Yeah, I’m on it El, thanks.”

Sole peered up at Nick puzzledly, but he already scooped the box back up under his arm and was leading them out the door of the Agency.  Nick walked at a near-run to Dr. Sun’s, an itch to confirm the nature of the box’s contents seizing him now that Ellie had confirmed the direness of the situation.  He pulled the box and Sole along to the center of Diamond City’s market place.  Dr. Sun barely looked up from his tray of medical equipment, half of which, Nick couldn’t name.

“Detective, always a pleasure – what can I do for you?” his words were pleasant, but his tone carried an impatience that had Nick careful not to beat around the bush.

“I have something I need you to…erhm, check for me.”

Dr. Sun looked up now, his eyebrows raised questioningly.  Nick eased the box under his arm towards the doctor.  Sun accepted the box and took the lid off.  His brow furrowed troubledly and he looked back up at Nick, suspicious.

“And what am I looking at?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Nick flicked his cigarette to the ground, and crushed it underfoot, “are those human hearts?”

Sole’s jaw dropped, and her expression was that of bewilderment as Dr. Sun peered intently into the box again.  He studied it for a few moments, his eyes running along the fibrous tissue like it was tracing a path to its source.  When he looked up again, he cleared his throat, and his expression was haughty – still strangely out of place on a man who was holding a box with raw hearts in it.

“Well, bear in mind that I’m no…veterinarian, but I don’t believe these are human hearts.  If I’m correct, they’re porcine.”

Nick sighed in visible relief although he need not breathe at all.

“Pigs?  Oh, thank god.”

Sole’s brow still creased with her discontent, and her confusion melted into irritation.  She crossed her arms, and Nick had to stop himself from snorting as she stamped her foot.

“Give ‘em here already, let me see!”

Sole hooked her fingers along the edge of the box and tugged it downwards enough so that it was angled towards her.  Nick was impressed by how unfazed she was as the hearts rolled downwards towards the plane of the box her fingers were on accompanied by a sickening wet sound that ended with a dull thud.

“Two hearts?” she mused, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“What is it, doll?”

Sole hesitated.

“Well, there are two hearts…why not one?  It would’ve been just as grisly.  Why go through the trouble of finding another heart?  And trust me when I say it  _would_  be trouble, I mean, have you seen any pigs around Diamond City these days?”

“Huh, good point,” Nick raised a hand to his jaw, rubbing pensively.  “barring some of the folks in the DC Guard of course, a pig would be rather hard to track down in these parts.  Plus…double hearts…the wedding ring.”  He looked to Sole.  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I’m thinking whoever planted the ring in my dressing room is the one who sent the hearts.”

Nick nodded.  

“They’re both wedding symbols.  And both sent to you after the death of an unhappily married woman, whose family has an awful lot to say about you…”

Nick and Sole’s triumphant looks were fleeting; the implication that whoever murdered Channel could be reasonably implicated in the framing and heart-box injected ice-water straight into Sole’s bones.  That means whoever killed had access to Sole’s most intimate spaces.  Sole’s complexion grew waxen, and for a moment, she seemed to wobble on her feet; ready to dissolve into the floor.  Nick steadied her with two firm hands on her shoulders.

“Hey now, none of that. We’ll get you home and I’ll be there the entire time.”

His hands never left her, not even when they’d returned to her home, for her fearful trembling never ceased.  

-

Hours later, when the safety of daylight had seeped from the sky, and a comforting fire blazed in the fireplace, Sole sat curled up on the sofa.  She had long traded in her day clothes for the frilly, white nightie that pooled at her folded legs.  Her hair fell in loose curls, and beside her, Nick sat, trying not to be hypnotized by the way the flames tossed shadow and light across Sole’s form.  She dazzled him like this; her subtle, delicate prettiness. Eyes star-strewn and features baring an aching sort of honesty he could only get glimpses of when she was all done up.

“Thank you for staying again.”

Quiet as she was, the sound of her voice in the crackling silence shocked both of them.

“Don’t mention it, I’d never just leave you here with all that’s going on.”

Sole hesitated, and Nick watched her face flutter with such lovely tentativeness.

“Is that…” she swallowed nervously, “is that the only reason you’re here?”

Nick turns his head to fully look at her.  Her cheeks flared with a crimson Nick wished he could hold in his own, and the way she peeked up at him through her lashes seemed to whisper at him to throw every last bit of caution into the wind.  At his shift in position, she tilted her head upwards to look openly upon his face, and suddenly the dancing fire seemed to dance not just for her, but for the both of them.  Nick could feel her breath fan across his face; warm, and sweet.  He’d never wanted to so badly sample a taste like he did now. She leaned in experimentally, and Nick felt his own lips part.  It terrified him, how easy it was to bow into her.  He could count her eyelashes now, could barely make out the curve of her nose, she was so close.  He felt something crinkle at his chest, and if he looked down, he would’ve seen her hand curling softly at his white dress shirt.  Almost magnetically, Nick tilted his head to the side.  The tip of Sole’s nose brushed his own, petal soft, and she shuddered into him, eyes pinched shut.  Nick was about to cross the final threshold, about to scrub out the delicate line in the sand with one fell swoop, when the lustrous onyx of the night sky through the window seized his attention.  It was like jerking abruptly back on the leash of a dog that was racing away, Nick almost whimpered.  

Was the murder watching him now?  Was manic, white foam bubbling at his lips as he watched her caress him, cherish him?  Did he look upon their huddled forms through a blistering rage, while they gazed at each other through rose-tinted glasses? Did his arms itch with the urge to squeeze broken, splintered glass so that it bit into his palms, as he watched Nick Valentine covet this woman?  

Nick’s hands came down on Sole’s shoulders, holding her an agonizing hair’s breadth away.

“I can’t,” he whispered, almost mutely.

Sole let out a shaky breath,

“Why not?”

Nick hesitated, the reasons at the tip his tongue feeling phony, plastic in their pretension.

“I…it’s your safety, I have to –“ he stammered lamely.

“Those aren’t reasons,” Sole scoffed bitterly, hot tears springing at the corners of her eyes.  “Tell me what it really is.”

Nick faltered.

“Is it me?  Do you not want me?” Unable to ready herself for if he said ‘yes’, Sole looked away, hurt.

Nick smoothed his palms over her shoulders.

“No doll, trust me, it’s anything but.”

“Then  _what_?”

“You…” Nick took a deep breath, before starting again.  Sole thought she might burst into ash under his smoldering, ambrosia irises.  “you make my head feel fuzzy; never in all my years have I lost a train of thought or drew a blank until I met  _you_.  You enter a room and,” Nick struggled to articulate for a moment, and one of his hands made a vague gesture, “it’s like you’re so bright, a fuse blows in me or something.  I short out.”

Sole’s eyes watched him with rapt attention, either entranced with the saccharine that poured from his mouth, or waiting for the other shoe to drop, even she couldn’t tell.  

“You say you’re innocent, but you’ve gone and stolen my heart like a common thief.  If I drowned myself in you, then I know I could die a happy man, but,” his eyes glimmered sadly, and Sole’s heart twinged, “despite all that, I’m…I’m a phantom of a man who existed more than two-hundred years ago.”

He took Sole’s hand and pressed it firmly to his chest, “You can’t feel my heart race because I don’t have one.”  

He took that very same hand and held the soft, supple back to his cheek.

“There’s no blood in me to blush when you touch me – and believe me, if there was even a drop in me, you’d know. And it  _kills_  me,” his voice rasped desperately, as if somehow, by wanting a human body to possess the strength of what he felt for her, he’d be bestowed it, “it really does, to want you like this, and still  _feel_  nothing.”

Sole shook as she held back a soft cry, and Nick clasped the hand he was holding between it and his bad one.

“Do you see now?  It’s not you at all, it’s  _me_ ,” the cold metal of his hand pressed melancholically to her own.  It might as well have been twisting a blade in her gut.  “I’m just no good for you.”

Silent wet trails streaked down Sole’s face, but her voice was as steady as the unwavering hand of death.

“Good for me or not, I want  _you_.”

Nick says nothing and so Sole know nothing changes.  She bows forward, her forehead catching his chest.  He holds her to him, embracing her shaking frame as it rattles into him. He has no heart, so he says, but then why does he still hurt so much?  Sole’s warmth curled and washed around him like bathwater, whatever wistfulness he felt, she scrubbed away.  If being the real Nick Valentine’s ghost is what lead him to even meet her, it was worth every nut and bolt.  Every time someone had spit the word ‘synth’ at him like it was a dirty word.  Every ding and scratch he earned being Diamond City’s spare part.  All of it worth this moment now, where he clasped this lovely woman to him and loved her although he had no heart to feel it in.  Perhaps it wasn’t that he had  _no_  heart, but rather, he didn’t have a heart  _inside_  of him.  Naively, he declared Sole his heart; of course, if she was his heart, she was also his moon and stars, his tides and wind, the sky that swam overhead, and the soil that lay beneath his feet.

Nick had said he could drown in her and die happily, and it was then that the intruder came back and brought him very close to getting that wish.

The window shattered then, raining fractals of glass down on the wood floor.  Sole screamed, and Nick was on his feet in an instance.  He raised towards the broken window just as the front door beside it burst open.  A man shrouded in black from head to toe loomed in the entranceway, blending in with the night outside from certain angles.  Nick didn’t hesitate in lunging at the man; he was lean, strong, and unencumbered by the burden of stamina like humans were.  But his opponent was a trained killer with a distinct motive.  Nick grappled with the man, and they wrestled in a sporadic, flailed dance for a few moments before Nick wrenched the man onto his back feeling the broken glass crunch underfoot, and something long and sinewy snap.  He looked down to see that he’d broken what looked like the corner of a small display case’s frame; its glass already shattered from its impact on the window, although the contents still appeared tacked neatly to the inner wall. The intruder took Nick’s fleeting distraction as an opportunity to jackknife to his feet, before aiming a solid punch to Nick’s jaw.  Sole watched from the side lines, her hands clamped over her mouth in terror.  Nick’s head snapped back, bearing his vulnerable neck to the assailant.  The intruder forced his hands into Nick, his fingers hooking dangerously around several of the thick, brightly colored wires that acted as his spinal cord.  Sole’s piercing scream rang out as the stranger snapped his arm back, and the ends of the wires came with it.  A terrible sound; an awful mix of metal groaning, and electricity fizzing out came from Nick before his body teetered forward and hit the ground with a hollow sounding  _clang_.  He lay there, still and in disarray, looking more like debris than a corpse.  Sole rushed towards him, paying no mind as the intruder slipped back into the cloaking darkness of night, his promises to see her again going unnoticed as she dropped to her knees.  

“Nick,” her voice was a mournful wail, “Oh,  _Nick,_ ” her fingers clutched at his jacket.

His silence screamed back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Sole sat with her fingers tunneled into the fabric of Nick’s jacket for how long, she didn’t know. But the sun was streaked in shy blues and hazy pinks when Sole finally collected herself from off the ground.  Nick’s body was unchanged from its heap on the floor, and Sole swallowed, wincing at the rawness of her throat.  Her face was sticky with dried tears, she was numb in her nightgown, as she walked out the door, still ajar from the night’s events. She hadn’t even bothered with shoes – what did it matter?  Dew-soaked dirt mushed between the stitching of her sock-feet, and she could feel it squish between her toes in damp coolness.  Years from now, would silly, doe-eyed girls squish mud between their toes with squeals of delight, as Nick lay six-feet under? Sole mentally slapped herself for thinking such thoughts, and she walked on as if on autopilot.

She hadn’t realized where her feet had carried her until the smell of antiseptic paired with Dr. Sun’s voice carried in the air.  Had she and Nick not stood here just a day before?  She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued on, like she was hoping to bump into some lingering part of Nick’s memory there – a whiff of his smoky scent, or an echo of that intuitive drawl in his voice.  There was a woman here, also donning a white, lab coat.  She was speaking to Dr. Sun when Sole stumbled into the structure.  Both of their heads turned, and the ice in their expressions melted away when they watched Sole in her disgruntled state; her eyes were wide and bewildered, like someone who was still bargaining with death for a glimpse of a ghost she searched for in vain.  Her face was puffy from spending the hours of the early morning crying, and her hair was disheveled.  How crazy she must look, not at all like the Sole people came from all over the Commonwealth to see at the Tappin’ Cat.

“Ms. Sole, was it?” Dr. Sun asked, approaching her carefully, like she was a startled animal.  

“Yes.”

Sole’s lips moved, but the voice that came out was not her own.

“Are you hurt?  Do you need help?”

Sole wanted to tell them that she was hurt, but they couldn’t help.  She wanted to say that she needed Nick, but that would lead to a whole other onslaught of questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.

“Yeah, help.”

Dr. Amari frowned and crossed her arms.  Dr. Sun’s brow furrowed concentratedly as he took a step closer to Sole and peered intently at her.

“What happened?  What hurts?” he asked gently.

 _What hurts?_ Sole’s chest ached, and if she’d gotten a chest x-ray then, she would’ve bet her heart would’ve been a blackened, rotten mass.  She so desperately wished she could wrench it out and join Nick again.  Sole wanted to tell them that, or perhaps beg them to sedate her.  She was sure that if she let her grief consume her, the violent tides would grow to be so astonishing that the doctors might do almost anything to stop them; she knew she would.  

“Help.” She whispered hoarsely again.

Dr. Amari stepped past Dr. Sun and braced her hands tightly on Sole’s shoulders.

“Alright, we can help you, but you need to start using your words.”

“Help.” Sole muttered again, before turning on her heel and leaving the medical structure.  

Dr. Amari and Dr. Sun new better than not to follow.  She retraced her path back to her home, her sock feet now unpleasantly cold as they endured the wet chill for the second time.  Her water-logged socks sucked into the viscous mud, but Sole paid neither the sounds, muck, or biting cold any mind.  There simply was no room with her grief.  They arrived back at Sole’s home, and Dr. Amari’s gut twisted when she saw the door already open.  

“Good God,” Dr. Sun murmured, “is that…” Dr. Amari followed his gaze to the crumpled heap just beyond the doorway.  

It grew shockingly familiar the closer they drew, and Amari’s stomach dropped like a stone when she saw the familiar trench coat.  Irma had flirted with the face beneath the brim of that battered hat many times before.

“What… _happened_?”

Sole didn’t answer, and Dr. Amari looked back at her before deciding that such terrifying emptiness in her expression was better left uninvestigated.  Amari knelt carefully by Nick’s body and examined his mysterious stillness.

“Detective Valentine?” she murmured, unsurprised when there was no answer.

She shook him gently, and the sound of his empty rattling would probably haunt the rest of them in the emptiest of nights.   Amari’s trained fingers found the wires the assailant had pulled loose, her fingers tracing down the thick red and blue strands.

“Hm,”

Dr. Sun’s expression was somber when Dr. Amari turned back to him.

“Well, he’s not dead.”

Sole stared on, glassy-eyed; almost a corpse herself.

“See these two strands?” Amari let them rest side by side in her palm, displaying them to Dr. Sun and Sole, “If I’m correct – and I think I am based on what I’ve seen from Institute technology so far, these two allow for ‘output’ functionality; his speech, expressions, you know, things of that nature.  But now they’re severed so…well, I might compare his condition to a coma in humans.”

“So, he’s not dead but…just inaccessible?” Sun’s voice was piqued with interest.

“Sort of, though I suppose it’d be more accurate to say we’re inaccessible to him, rather than vice versa.”

“Did you hear that Sole? He’s not dead.” Dr. Sun nudged her.

Sole blinked in a dazed manner, before her pupils focused on Dr. Sun, and then moved to Dr. Amari.

“I think I can fix this,” Dr. Amari said carefully, “but we need to get him to the Memory Den; that’s where all my equipment is.”

-

It was cold and wet – just like the night Nick Valentine had looked on Channel Tosto’s corpse for the first time, when an empty shell baring Nick Valentine’s likeness was brought into the Memory Den’s basement level.  From here, Sole barely registered the subdued tapping of rain on the building.  It was an anticipatory noise in nature; the impatient drumming of fingers, a metronome, a clock – it threw back the relentless march of time back in her face.   _He’s been gone for 43,200 seconds now, 43,201, 43,202…_  Sole thought she might go mad.

She had settled herself onto the plush red couch, along the wall, but was ushered out once Mayor Hancock had showed up; the procedure was to start soon, and Amari didn’t want her in the room if things went south.  Curie, an expert in more ways than one, was also present.  Ellie had arrived but chose to wait outside, where Sole had been exiled to.  Two additional memory loungers had been brought down in preparation for the procedure; Nick was laying in one, and everyone breathed a little easier – he could’ve been sleeping now, if he’d done such a thing.  In the other three loungers were synth men who had been in a dreamless sleep for years – memory transfers gone wrong; Curie felt an eerie twinge in her chest as she looked on, from the outside this time.

“Alright, let’s commence.” Dr. Amari announced.

Seated in a wheeled-office chair, she rolled over to the console by Nick’s lounger, agile fingers dancing expertly across the keys.  His lid had been left open, and his monitor adjusted, so that it pointed outwards, towards Curie and Hancock.  The console hummed to life, and the monitor screen brightened with the arrival of three words;  _Please Stand By…_  Dr. Amari turned to Nick’s body.  The screen changed so that it resembled the dark interface of a standard terminal, a green, vertical bar blinking at the top, in that same expectant tempo.

“Nick, can you hear me?” Dr. Amari asked.

For a few moments nothing happened; Curie and Hancock watched the monitor with rapt attention.

“C’mon Nicky,” the ghoul muttered tersely.  

Curie’s brow was knitted together, a ball point pen clasped in her hand that was raised at her lips, in case nerves prompted her to idly nibble at the end, or her restless fingers to click it.  Then the blinking bar on the monitor walked across the screen, each step leaving a letter in its wake.

_Yes._

“Good! That’s good!” Amari’s voice brightened, “Now, do you know what’s happened to you?”

Another couple of anxious moments passed.  Then the blinker started walking again.

_Sort of.  It’s a bit fuzzy._

“I don’t know the details; Sole should tell you…” Amari’s eyes darted to Curie and then back to the lounger, “…later, but you took a bad beating, and wires necessary for your body’s output functionality were compromised.”

_Is Sole okay?_

“More or less – she’s a bit shaken, but she’s alright.  We should be talking about you though.”

_What’s my prognosis, Doc?_

The corner of Amari’s mouth quirked upwards into a lopsided, half-smile.  Even without his distinguished voice, he was still good, ol’ Nick.

“Well, unfortunately, there’s no way of fixing the wires.  The filaments on the inside were damaged, and those are simply too fragile.”

_Yikes._

“But…”

Curie stepped forward, smiling broadly.  The hand with the pen dropped to her side, as the other clutched a clipboard to her chest.

“We had an idea!”

_Hi Curie._

“’Allo Detective Valentine! We were sinking zhat we could perform a sort of transference procedure between your consciousness and a body zhat is…no longer in use, like zhey did with me!”

Curie watched the monitor, almost buzzing with excitement.  The blinker started to talk, before erasing the words and moving back to square one.  It repeated this once more, before they finally got a reply.

_No._

“Nick, if it’s that you’re worried – granted, this type of thing isn’t done often, but I’ve done it, and quite successfully with Curie.  Not to mention Kellogg’s cybernetic brain augmenter.  We have the bodies’ caretakers’ consent too, I assure you –“

_It’s not that._

The bright green text cut Amari off as effectively as if the sound of his voice had clashed with her own.

“Then what?”

_It’s not mine to take._

His words held two-hundred years’ worth of Nick’s self-loathing.  A synth – the only synth not shot on sight – toting another man’s name, memories, emotional baggage, now wife, and potentially body.  Hancock cleared his throat and studied the toes of his boots, Amari sat at the computer, at a loss for words.  It was something she’d never be able to understand, and it was baggage Curie never decided to carry.

“Exactly!” Curie exclaimed, undeterred, “Eet eez a precious gift given to you – and eef you so choose, you could make it mean somesing!”

The blinker winked on, unconvinced.

“Plus, the murder is still at large, right?  Who else is going to catch him, if not you?” Amari interjected.

The air was heavy with everyone’s expectations as they watched for a change on the monitor.   Minutes passed, and Amari was losing hope when Hancock and Curie’s faces lit up as they read Nick’s response.

_I suppose you have a point there._

Then,

_Who’s my guy?_

Curie leapt into action, pulling back the clipboard, and licking her thumb for traction before she flipped the page.  She took her place beside the lounger closest to Nick, as if he’d be able to peer in and see his donor for himself.

The man in the lounger still had the chubby give of his youth stockpiled in his cherub cheeks, and pretty, bow-tie lips.

“Worthy Torres, twenty-two years old –“ Curie started.

_Pass._

“What?  But why?” she asked, exasperated.

_He’s just a kid…_

Curie opened her mouth to protest, but Hancock chuckled, before strolling up to Nick’s lounger, and patting the edge of it sympathetically.

“Nah, I get it Nicky,” he turned to Curie, “he’s a man – so he needs to look like one.” The ghoul explained, with a grin.

Curie made a face but walked to the next lounger.  She flipped the page on the clipboard again.  This donor looked as if he could’ve been painted into the lounger, rather than a real person at one point, with his head full of lush, blonde hair, and idyllic, Grecian-statue features.

“Tinker Ungur, thirty-five years old.  Was a merchant with a, quote unquote, ‘face zhat could sell a fish, dry land.’” Curie reported expertly.

Hancock walked over to Curie’s side again, before letting out a low whistle.

“I don’t think you could find anything wrong with him Nicky, he’s a looker alright.”

The pair looked hopefully to the monitor again.

_No._

This time Hancock started to protest.

“Ya sure?  We’re not screwin’ with you, or nothin’.”

_I’m just a guy, I just want to look like me._

The trio exchanged looks; the implicit ‘ _but I don’t know what ‘me’ looks like_ ’ followed as clearly as if he’d typed it out.

“Right zhen, we have one more,” Curie moved to the third lounger.  

This man looked to be in his early to mid-forties.  He had thick brown hair that fell in a natural tousled-ness and faded to silver at his side burns.  He was handsome – or at least he had been once but burdens the people in this room knew nothing about had creased his face, while constant sleepless nights had bruised the area beneath his eyes.  His features were harsh – the sort of face that looked at someone and made them recall every unsavory act they’d ever committed.  He commanded honesty and respect, he condemned anything else.

“Abidan Viktorov, thirty-eight years old, a professional gambler who…” Curie frowned, before flipping over a page, and then back again, scanning it thoroughly before looking up  “oh, well zhat’s all we have on him.”

As if cued, Hancock and Curie looked to the screen.

_This one._

“Alright, we’ll get started in a few minutes then.” Dr. Amari said before her fingers began dancing across the keyboard, typing a sequence of complicated commands into the console.

Curie meanwhile went to Abidan’s lounger and shut the glass lid before reaching back to flip a switch. The machine hummed with new life as it turned on.

Hancock nodded approvingly.

“I always pictured him as a silver-fox.”

Unbeknownst to the others in the room, one last message popped up on Nick’s monitor.

_Thank you._

Curie and Hancock hovered by Abidan’s lounger, waiting, their fingers pressed up against the glass like childrens’ watching the first snowfall of the season.  The procedure was quick, and quite easy the second time around as it turned out.  Abidan’s – now Nick’s body – shuddered as his lungs gasped, and eyes fluttered open for the first time in years.  Hancock and Curie sprang away from the lounger as the glass lid lifted, wanting to give Nick space in his new, startling state.

Nick opened his eyes fully, blinking a few times before trying to climb carefully out of his lounger. Hancock rushed to his side to offer his arm, which Nick accepted readily, his leg muscles atrophied from lack of use, and his brain shocked at the sensation of using his legs.  Nick looked around with wonder that was reminiscent of a newborn seeing the world for the first time.  It wasn’t a farfetched notion; this was Nick being present, here in the flesh for the first time.  Dr. Amari came over, looking all business, as Curie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Why ‘allo zhere!” she beamed, her eyes glittering excitedly.

“Hi,” new Nick greeted hoarsely, his voice cracked from a lack of use.  

He grinned giddily, looking amazed, “Well now,” he began breathlessly, “isn’t that just something?”  He turned to Hancock, “Hi, Hancock.”

The ghoul let out a short puff of air, “Good to see you back with us, Nick.”

Nick turned to Curie, his own eyes shining, “Hello, Curie!” his voice was gaining strength, and began to resemble more of what he sounded like before, just without the tiny echo of his voice box against the aluminum walls of his old body’s interior.  He laughed a breathy laugh, dizzy with joy.

Amari seemed to relax a little at his display.

“Well, it appears that all your cognitive functions are intact.  How do you feel, Detective Valentine?”

Nick smiled, again, “I feel…I feel…”

Nick trailed off, in search of a word that could encompass what he felt right now – wonder?  Awe? Immense love?  And if so, then for what?  For whom?  Perhaps it was accurate to leave it as is; he felt…he just felt.

“The procedure appears to have been a success; but you’ll still have a lot of adjusting to do, so don’t try to be a hero.  When you need help, ask for it.” Amari said sternly.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s got it Amari,” Hancock waved her off, before pulling Nick towards the door.  “Your first order of business awaits you upstairs – you’ve left a couple of ladies  _very_  worried.”

Curie gathered up Nick’s old coat and folded it neatly over her forearm, before grabbing his hat, and trailing after him and the Mayor of Goodneighbor.  Distress rushed hot and cold through Nick; and the intensity of it nearly forced the air from his lungs, as they began to climb the stairs back up to the Memory Den’s main level.

“Sole – is she -?” his eyes went wide, and his chest squeezed as if a cold hand had reached inside to grip his heart.

“Sole’s fine, she’s with Ellie.  They’ll be glad to see you though, you gave ‘em quite a scare.”

Nick’s brow furrowed, “The person who pulled my wires…he came to Sole’s last night, he threw something through the window – I think it was just supposed to be a message, not a slaughter, but then I was there…” his voice lowered in volume, and Hancock knew he was no longer talking to him.

As they stepped into the Memory Den’s main floor, Nick saw that it was empty – for perhaps the first time since it opened.  Irma wasn’t lounging on her usual couch, rather it seemed she’d closed the Memory Den for the procedure, to ensure the utmost privacy no matter how things ended up shaking out.  Sitting on the steps leading up to the stage was Ellie, perched beside a Sole who was curled up on her side.  She appeared to be sleeping, based on how her head rested on her arm, and the even rise and fall of her chest.  It was a fitful one though, her brow still knew enough to be furrowed, even as the rest of her body’s consciousness leached away.  At the sound of movement behind her, Ellie looked back, and a smile of delight immediately spread across her face.

“Nick!” she gasped, double taking.

Nick couldn’t place why, but he felt a heat gather at his cheeks, and he ducked his head, hoping the meager protection from prying eyes might soothe it.  Ellie rushed up to him, and wrapped her arms around him, taking him into a brief, little squeeze, before letting go.  She looked him up and down again, fluttering her hands out towards him, as if presenting something amazing.

“You look great!”

He chuckled, “Thanks, El.”

The smile never left her face as she stepped to the side, and Nick approached Sole’s form.  She was still in her nightgown, and there were flecks of dried mud running along the exposed curves of her calves.  Nick’s heart twinged and he felt the urge to drag the hem of her skirt down and cover her more.  His cheeks reclaimed the heat that had seared them just a couple of moments before, although now they were simmering in a gentle smolder.  He knelt by the sleeping woman, stooping carefully over her, before raising his hand to her shoulder and shaking her gently.  He relished the build up of heat between his palm and the fabric of her nightie.

“Hey doll,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small smile.

Sole stirred, and Nick almost regretted waking her up.  It must’ve been hell for her; he remembered some muted panic coming over him as he’d listened to her cry over him, while he was powerless to reassure her.

“Sole,” he tried again, though his voice lowered.

Sole stirred again, her eyes fluttering open the teeniest bit.  They glimpsed him and then fell shut again.  A few moments later Sole’s eyes snapped open, and she propped herself up onto her elbows slowly, her lips parting in surprise.  Her stare bore into his, and Nick ached to know what she was thinking.  His eyes were a warm, toffee brown; a less shocking derivative of his former body’s golden irises.  Nick had just enough time to watch as Sole’s bottom lip started to tremble, before he heard a whimper catch in her throat.  She lunged at him then, tossing her arms around his neck, and clinging to him like he was a life preserver.

He felt like syrup – warm and melted as their body heat fused together.  Warmth washed over him as if he were walking through flames; his heart hammered in his ribcage, and Nick wondered if the impact disturbed her.  Based on the way she held him tighter, he guessed not. His arms wrapped warmly around her in reciprocation, and something inside him felt like it clicked into place; as if by pulling her to him, he was tucking her in to the Sole-shaped hole in his heart and filling the emptiness that had all but consumed him during his time as a gen-2.  

He laughed softly.

“How do you know who I am? You could be hugging some weirdo.”

Sole pulled back, bracing her hands on either side of his face.  Nick felt his skin grow hot and itchy under her grip.  Her thumb traced along his cheekbone, drawing a trail of fire across his cheek.

“Oh Nick, I’d find you anywhere, in any crowd.”

The memory of the first night they’d met came back to Nick with stunning vibrancy; her on stage, an angel in disguise.  Her eyes finding him in the crowd, long before he was hers to find.  Sole’s eyes shined wetly now, and he wanted to tell her something – anything, maybe how his life had seemingly started the moment she found him, despite him having existed long before that.  How it was like he was meant to be found by her – like his past as the Institute’s refuse was irrelevant now more than ever, because Sole had found him, touched him and turned him to gold, had made him a man, and so much more.  Dipped him in the river Styx and immortalized him in the constellations that scattered through tear-warped lights as they danced in her eyes.

But words failed Nick; and he thought his heart might too.  He clutched her closer to himself, two good hands now tunneling into her hair, and clasping her to him.  Nick buried his nose into the crown of her head, and inhaled deeply, drawing in her scent. Hubflowers, the slight tang of sweat, and something distinctively Sole.  

Again, words failed him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

By the time Ellie, Nick, and Sole returned to Diamond City, it was after midnight.  The Commonwealth sky was serene in its cold, uncaring beauty – like it or not, there it was for them to behold, as it would be long after they were gone.  The walk back was quiet, the events of the day had taken its greedy toll on everyone. Throughout the trip home Sole kept glancing back at Nick; marveling at the wind rustling through his hair.  He was so obviously Nick, and at the same time, a total stranger – his iconic coat and hat had reconciled with this abrupt change rather nicely.  His eyes were still smoldering, his voice, still drawling – women were still dames and dolls to him, he still smoked like a chimney (in fact, he was smoking right now,) and his mind was just as sharp, if not sharper now that it was enhanced with what Curie referred to as the human’s inspired condition.  Still, Sole felt a funny little tickle of self-consciousness – the pressure to please that often came with new acquaintances and faded with friendship.

This handsome stranger wore a vest over his white-dress shirt, and while Nick had always kept his gun holstered at his hip, this man had already come with a harness that holstered it at his waist; better for cloaking his defenses in his coat.  If Sole were to reach for this stranger’s hand, she would’ve found warm, calloused flesh instead of the cool press of metal or silicon.  If she pushed her luck just a bit further, well, who knows what else she might have discovered, and who knew how many others had discovered the very same things on this body.  Sole’s cheeks pinkened at the thought and she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling exposed in the thin fabric of her nightgown.

“You cold?” Nick sidled up to Sole.

She pressed her lips together and willed the juvenile hue of her cheeks away.

“No, I’m alright,”

The man grinned crookedly, and Sole reddened further, with a vengeance.

“C’mon doll, don’t get shy on me now – you didn’t even bother to bring a jacket.”

“I – well, that’s…you can get cold now too, don’t forget.”

She raised her hands, as if ready to rebuff his attempts at offering her his coat.

“Even without the coat, I’m wearing more than you,” he draped the coat over her shoulders.

She looked down abashedly and murmured a quiet ‘thanks’.  Her restrained reply didn’t go unnoticed by him, but he said nothing for now.  When they reentered Diamond City, and the heavy gate had closed behind them, they walked the lower stands path back to the Valentine Detective Agency.  Nick was all at once struck with how vividly he could experience the city in this new body. The acrid tang in the air; while he’d known the rust and gasoline scent in his old body, it was much more pungent in this one – burning his nose, curling at his tongue and tainting his mouth.  The brisk, night wind chilled his cheeks, and forearms, and he felt refreshed.  They passed by a skittish looking Travis Miles, and Nick called out to him.

“’Evening Travis,”

The man startled, his gait stuttering a bit, before he looked at Nick and ducked his head meekly.

“G-Good evening, s-sir.” His eyes were fearful and void of recognition.

Right.  Diamond City was unaware of the change its resident detective had undergone that day.

“Oops,” Nick murmured, and Ellie laughed.

At the next fork in the road, Sole began to peel away.  Nick eyed her as she started to shrug off his coat.

“Mind if we drop by the Agency first?  I should probably pick up a change of clothes before we head back to your place.”

Ellie walked on a few paces ahead, pretending not to listen to Sole and Nick, luckily, this meant they also couldn’t glimpse her scandalized grin at the notion of them shacked up together for the night, with his new body and all the whims that came with it.

“My place?” Sole asked in dismay, “After what happened last night?”

Nick’s expression took on the same demeanor as Sole’s.

“You mean last night when the prime suspect in a murder case  _came back_?  All the more reason I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

Sole’s hands came to rest on her hips, “ _You’re_  the one who shouldn’t be left alone; you just had what constitutes as brain surgery.”

“Hmph!” Nick crossed his arms, “then it’s settled, I can go with you, and neither of us will be alone.”

Sole opened her mouth to argue but found no argument ready.  Her mouth shut and she narrowed her eyes at Nick, who hid his triumph with the subtlety and tact of a super mutant.  Ellie, who had put forth the minimum effort to appear as if she weren’t in fact listening, returned to the pair in their stare off.  Sole seemed to be digging her heels into the dirt just for the hell of it now, despite the fact that she couldn’t find a reason to counter Nick’s proposition.  Nick on the other hand was waiting patiently for Sole to give in, his small victory giving him all the time in the world.

“Nick’s got some space here, how about the both of you stay at the Agency; it may be enough of a switch to stall your stalker until you guys figure out a better solution.  At the very least, for the night.” Ellie suggested.

“That’s a fine idea, Ellie.” Nick turned to his assistant, following her as she disappeared through the door below the neon, pink heart.  He paused, waiting with his foot in the door before looking to Sole.  “You comin’?”

Sole reluctantly followed.

The inside glowed with warmth that Ellie and Nick nurtured within it; sure, the paintings were crooked on the wall, and there was paper everywhere – but it felt like perhaps the safest place in the entire Commonwealth to Sole.  Ellie had only stopped by to grab some things from her desk before she left for the night.  Nick and Sole bade her goodbye, and then they were left in a stifling silence. Sole fidgeted awkwardly, still enveloped in Nick’s coat.

“And then there were two.”

Sole couldn’t help but smile a little at his charm that had so clearly carried over.  She shrugged off his coat before moving to hang it on the coat rack.  She felt a presence behind her and didn’t dare look to confirm as Nick took off his harness, and hung it on one of the neighboring prongs.  She noticed it didn’t hold the .44 Magnum anymore.

“So, you live here?” Sole asked, unable to stand the crackling silence anymore.

“I do,” Nick chuckled, “It’s not so bad though,” he headed towards the stairs leading up to the second level. “Would you like to see for yourself?”

She did very much; the thought of seeing another personal corner of this man’s life unleashed a hoard of butterflies inside of her.  She bit her lip shyly and went to Nick, following him to the cozy, upstairs area. Immediately she found herself in the middle of Nick’s private, night routine.  To the left, was a bed tucked into a dim corner.  A perfectly fluffed pillow sat atop a soft, red duvet.  A stitched pattern swirled intricately atop it in a darker maroon.  It looked too clean to have ever been used and knowing Nick it probably hadn’t been. It seemed like its days of collecting dust were over.  Opposite of the bed was a dresser, and Sole couldn’t help but grin as she imagined the contents.  It was probably drawers full of the same classic, white dress shirt, same non-descript ties, and basic trousers.  Classic attire for a classy man.  To the right, was a small seating area; two red easy-chairs, separated by a finely-preserved, pre-war side table holding an ashtray and another carton of cigarettes.

Nick stepped around Sole to go to the dresser.  He procured two clean button downs and tossed one Sole’s way.  Her eyebrows flew up in surprise as she caught it.

“I figured you might want something clean to wear too; it should be big enough on you.”

Sole’s cheeks flushed, “Thank you.”

“I’ll uh, step out, so you can change.”

The butterflies flapped their wings almost violently in her gut, and she felt their wings tickle a sense of giddiness in her as Nick descended the stairs.  Still feeling exposed, she stepped towards the seating area, and undressed quickly.  The soft material of her nightgown pooled at her ankles as she shrugged the dress shirt on and buttoned it up.  It was a tad bit shorter than her discarded nightie, the hem reaching mid-thigh, but no more revealing than the robe she normally wore.  She left a few of the top buttons open for comfort and began cuffing up the sleeves just as she heard Nick’s footsteps on the stairs again.  He knocked against the wall, and the sound echoed effectively against the aluminum.  

“You decent?”

The tips of Sole’s ears tinged an indignant red.

“Yes!”

“Just checking.”

She moved her nightgown off to the side not having seen a hamper, or anything similar thus far. When Nick appeared again, he looked much fresher with a clean shirt; his vest and tie were gone.  He resembled the Nicky she knew a bit more now, but that pesky silence was back again, pricking at their nerves and stewing a slowly rising shyness in the both of them.  

“Shall we sit?” Sole finally asked.

“Sure,”

They migrated to the two easy chairs, where they found more crutches.  Sole looked at the generous stash of bottles on the low standing coffee table, its finely polished, dark wood and gold embellishments matching the side-table well.

“Care for a drink?”

A voice in the back of Sole’s mind warned her of what could come with company she was a bit too eager for, and a night cap, but it only made the ‘yes, please’ so much slicker as it passed her lips.  Nick retrieved two glasses and a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet against the wall opposite to the armchairs.  He poured until both glasses were a quarter full, and then he and Sole drank.  The dwindling supply of the whiskey marked the passage of hours as late-night melted into a very early morning.  Liquor had dissolved whatever reservations Sole harbored towards the ‘new’ Nick Valentine, and the way to easy conversation was so well-lubricated, nearly anything they said could be considered ‘smooth-talking’. The clock on the cabinet read a couple of hours after midnight, but the hour-hand strayed no further than the tiny, black-printed four.

“It’s getting late,” Nick remarked, as he swirled the last bit of his drink in his glass.

His grin was looser than usual, wilier, a bit like the tie he loosened at the base of his throat.  His eyes shined, and his words grew sweeter with each passing glass.  It occurred to Sole then, that she’d never seen Nick drunk before.

“This isn’t late at all,” she made a face, “why, this is what we call ‘the magic hour’, at the ‘Cat. Anything can happen, you know? People meet their soulmates, courage comes in spares, and the air is so thick with possibility, you can pluck opportunity straight from it.”  Nick’s eyes were trained on her, and Sole had to look away for she couldn’t deal with the emotion they sparked in her quite yet.  “Besides, I don’t think I could sleep tonight anyways.”  Sole risked a peek at Nick through her lashes, one finger tracing the rim of her near-empty glass.  She could feel the questions beading at the tip of his tongue, like morning dew collected on blades of grass.

He didn’t shed his questions, at least not yet.

“Oh right,” he chuckled, running a hand tiredly across his face, “I’ll have to do that now.”

A beat of silence fell between them, and then the pair of them burst into laughter, mingling in the comfort of good company.

“Yeah, there’s a lot you’ll have to think about now,” Sole mused, “eating, sleeping, drinking, and uh, of course whatever goes in must come out.”  Sole’s cheeks flushed, “Not to mention dealing with emotions and stuff.”

Nick’s eyes were drawn to the lovely red that gathered at her cheeks, and like the poets and writers, artists, and philosophers looked up to the heavens and were inspired, he was too, and he donned his own matching vermillion.  While even in his inebriated state, Nick knew enough to know that it was a bad idea, still, his chest ached with the need to kiss Sole, and he was taken aback with how hollow it made him feel.  Such emptiness almost felt more massive than the pressing murder case that plagued Diamond City.

“Oh doll,” he drawled, both his voice and his smile, pure sunshine, “You have no idea.”

Sole’s heart seized.  

The thump of her heart rattled her bones, instilling an itch to show Nick the bleeding heart she had attached to her sleeve.  Sober Sole had vowed not to utter a word on the matter, but whiskey had erased every trace of such resolve.

“Hey Nick,” she smiled, and bit her lip tentatively.  

The atmosphere shifted, and it seemed to crackle expectantly with the change Sole’s ominous start had threatened.

“You know what we talked about the other night?”

Nick met her gaze steadily.

Maybe it was the liquid optimism they had been sipping all night, but Sole felt it was a sign; she’d met a man, finally, rather than a child or fussy, old maid disguised as a man.

“I do.”

Sole hoped this would not be the last time he said such committal words to her.

“Well,” she set her glass down, and twisted her fingers nervously, “I had a thought…”  Nick watched her, and she took a deep breath before continuing, “I was thinking, that the issues you mentioned…well, they aren’t really issues anymore since…”

Her gaze flicked up to him, before retreating before she could read his face.  

“Your safety –“

The butterflies inside Sole trembled fearfully, she steeled herself.

“Again, is not mutually exclusive.” She spoke softly, but firmly.

Nick hesitated, and Sole snatched the opportunity to be brave.  She placed her hand at his chest and took on a furious red at the feeling of firm, warm muscle beneath the thin material of his shirt.  Nick thought his brand-new heart might’ve succumbed to the spell of her touch right then.  While he ventured it might stop entirely, Sole found that it was racing, like horses on a track – strong and fast.  If she were a betting woman, she would’ve always bet on him.

“I can feel your heart racing,” she said.

The memory of him holding her hand to him the other night flitted through his mind, a hummingbird in his drunken haze.  It felt like a million years ago.  Sole lifted her hand to his cheek and felt the stubble over soft skin.  Heat licked at her from the inside.  Nick darkened under her touch.

“And I can feel you grow warm as I touch you,” she whispered, “I know the feeling myself.  So then, tell me Nick,” she finally looks to him, her own eyes insistent for an answer, “what are you feeling?”

Nick’s heart hammered like a loaded gun went off.   _Bang! Bang! Bang!_  It rattled him from the inside, jostling the very marrow in his bones.  Every part of him ached for her; both those he recognized and those that still felt very alien to him.  To ask him how he felt was very simple and at the same time, very complicated.  In short, all he felt was her, or more accurately, a need for her.  To ask him to elaborate further would’ve been cruel to his new body which couldn’t stand the magnitude of the effects she had on him.  Heat seared him, to such a degree he thought he might be sick.  His head swam, and would’ve been swimming still even without the stupor his drunkenness had him simmering in.  This new body felt just as ill-equipped to love her as his old one had – he could function for nothing else.  While the old one had been unprepared to fathom even a fraction of this feeling, this one was completely consumed by it.  What is it that was said?   _Love was the surest way to death._  He had found the statement ridiculous before, now he wasn’t so sure.

All he could be sure of now was the way Sole was tilting into him, lips first, in a way that was so familiar, he wanted the fire that consumed him, to consume her as well.  He found himself leaning in too and made no move to stop it.  The very human part of him, refused to leave this world without following through on this moment they built, right here.  His breath caught in his throat – no worries, he wouldn’t need it anyways. Sole smiled, the barest hint of a smile, and moved in, her nose brushing against his.  He couldn’t help but laugh breathily at the sensation.  She angled her head, and he felt her breath on him. Her hands were at his shoulders, and somewhere in his cacophony of emotions running sky-high, he’d worked up the nerve to place his hands on her waist.  She had pinched her eyes shut, and Nick felt he should too – but he struggled. He wanted to paint this image of her, frozen and wanting him, on the backs of his eyelids so it was singed into his memories and carved into his existence.  He wanted the feel of her warmth through his shirt, imprinted onto the pads of his fingers. Her lips were so close, he felt the phantom of them pressing to his, before the final, painstaking distance was crossed.

Then something low rumbled inside of him.  He felt himself vibrate, and the hollowness in him grew more intense, almost painful. He jerked back, a bit confused - could love do such a thing?

Sole broke into a giggle, the shy pink of her cheeks still most prominent.

“Someone’s hungry.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The next night day, relative normalcy had been restored – Nick had woken up for the first time in his bed (a much less pleasant experience than he would’ve thought, being reminiscent of a creaky joint, or rusted part in his old body.)  Sole had emerged from her coiled position in one of the easy-chairs she’d fallen asleep in, much to Nick’s chagrin.  She rose to her feet, rubbing her stiff neck and as the two pattered down the stairs, neither said a word about that had happened – or,  _almost_ happened – the night before.

Instead, Nick and Sole trotted down the stairs.  Nick donned his harness, and hat, tucking his .44 Magnum into place.  He passed the coat to Sole in an attempt to preserve her decency.  She was still only wearing one of his shirts; hell, it was enough to give even him the wrong idea.  In her groggy state, Sole didn’t bother questioning him.  They shuffled out into the Commonwealth, and Sole would bet that the cigarette Nick was nursing between his lips right now wouldn’t be a sufficient breakfast.

“I’ll fix something when we get to my house,” she said with a yawn.  

“Sure doll.  Whatever you do, I’d feel better if I were there with you – you know, given the situation.”  He waved his cigarette as he spoke.

“Alright, but I really must go back to work tonight.”

“Can’t say it’ll be the worst night I’ve had on a case.”

The compliment was veiled but given how Sole had spent the past few nights bathed in the nearness of the detective, it wasn’t terribly difficult for her to sniff out.  The pair plodded along the way back to Sole’s home.  The narrow, winding path felt rustic, rather than sinister, in the safe light of day.  Their stroll feelt pleasant despite the mess they’d be facing at their destination.  Sole wondered how she’d fill these days without Nick, once this whole ordeal was over.  When they arrived at Sole’s home, nothing had changed; it was like the incident had happened, and then the site had been frozen – the only thing that had been moved, was Nick’s body.  The front window was still broken, the door still ajar, and a light coat of shattered glass snowed over the front step, and floor inside – glittering and splitting light into millions of rainbows as the sun hit it.

“Watch your step,” Nick warned, stepping carefully over the glass.  

Sole picked her way inside the house, following him closely as his eyes scanned the scene.  He felt a strange squeezing in his chest, examining his own murder scene – like the cold grip of death might have the capacity to pull at him, when he crossed over these hallowed grounds once again.  He was grateful Sole was there.  

“I’ll get the broom.” Sole said quietly, leaving Nick alone with his thoughts to go to the closet down the hall.

Laying amidst the glass was a small display case, its corner badly bashed in – that must’ve been what he’d stepped on in his scuffle with the intruder.  Nick reached for it before his hand froze a few inches away –  _right, fingerprints_  – he looked helplessly around himself for a few moments before using the long tail of his coat to carefully grasp the edge of the case and pick it up.  More glass crumbs showered from it as he did so.  

“What’s that?” Sole asked, returning with a dustpan and broom.  

Nick set the case on the table.  The glass front was almost completely gone save for the jagged glass that splintered around the perimeter.  It was good the clasps still worked; reaching through the front might feel akin to reaching into a deathclaw’s mouth otherwise.   The inside was lined in a luxurious, maroon silk.  Pins as delicate as the specimens they supported held butterfly wings, an iridescent blue.  They looked the things of fairytales; their color so vibrant, Nick half expected them to float from their damaged prison and take flight.  The wings were not kept in their original wholeness, rather instead, they were partitioned with an almost surgical precision, each with their own pin, and still in the correct arrangement denoting a butterfly in life.

“Huh.  A butterfly?” Nick murmured to himself, not sure what it meant yet.

“Did that come with it?”

Sole bent down to pick something up, and she handed him a scrap of paper a few moments later.

“It must’ve fallen from the case.”

Nick flattened the crumpled paper, and a spiky, scrawl was revealed;  _What’s a butterfly garden without butterflies?_

In the presence of a mutilated one, it felt bizarrely malevolent.

“Does this mean anything specifically to you?” Nick asked her, in detective mode rather than, whatever other mode they’d taken to in the late nights.

Sole shook her head.

“No, not particularly, although butterflies were often released at weddings…”

Nick grimaced, “So the intruder from the other night was most likely the same person who left the box, and planted the ring, since he’s sticking to the theme of wedding symbols.”

Sole’s brow furrowed deeply, and suddenly her face, formerly the visage of envy among most women in Diamond City, looked as haggard as Nick’s own.

“What is it?”

“It references butterflies in a butterfly garden, and yet whoever did this destroyed it,” Sole began, “if we’re to assume the person leaving these things is the murder, could this possibly be implying that there are more bodies?” She looked at him, her eyes frightful.

‘No’ was at the tip of Nick’s tongue.  ‘Of course, not’ to follow soon after, but Nick hesitated, as if something unseen was pulling the words back, fishing them down his throat and making him devour them, to never see the light of day.  Sole’s face seemed to harden at his unwitting confirmation, and she was silent as she palmed the broom, she’d gotten out again.  Glass tinkled as it bounced along her hardwood floors like a chord following the rhythmic drag of the bristles.  Gradually, she shifted all of it towards the door, and in the end, the dustpan wasn’t even needed; the off-path area outside her home serving just as well.  It’s not like people typically walked about the Commonwealth without shoes anyways.

Within an hour, the broom and dustpan were neatly tucked away again, the floor was clean, and Sole and Nick sat at the table, a cup of coffee washing down the breakfast Sole had whipped up quick.  Like the heart box had sat a few days prior, the butterfly case reigned supreme as the new center-piece.  The notion of a murder-themed furniture store crossed Nick’s mind, sort of appealing in its gruesomeness; reconciling the horrific events of the past few days and the strangely macabre, domestic cycle he and Sole had fallen into since.  

_Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup._

_Why, that’s just the bowl the soup came in._

“So,” Sole took a deep breath, “Channel was murdered – was there anything at the crime scene that might have a connection to these other visits?”

Nick’s fingers knit around his mug, the ashtray by him populated with a morning’s worth of intuition.  

“The ring planted in your room was missing from Channel,” his gaze flicked to Sole, “but other than that nothing.”

“Anything at the crime scene you noted that wasn’t directly related to the visits after the murder?”

Nick thought hard for a moment.  Memories felt so different in this warm body than they did in his old one.  Rather than just getting a clear picture, he could almost hear the faint pattering of rain; and smell the thickness of the air. His heart stuttered in anxious little palpitations, as if Channel’s corpse was still laying before him.  Gelatinous blood clots clumped in a half-hearted attempt to dry, at the perimeters of the stab wounds riddling her.  The wounds were smooth – not jagged, and circular, not long – it had not been a blade that killed Channel Tosto.  Nick’s eyes fluttered shut in his recollection, and he could practically feel his face heat and cool in a mottled dance as the blinking fire flashed in front of him.  Beside the fireplace sat a neat array of fire pokers – they could’ve been heirlooms in their grandeur.  That stand had looked a bit light though; only five of the six slots had been filled…

“The fire poker,” Nick said vaguely, “there was a fire poker missing.”

Sole studied the meaningful terseness to his expression.

“It fits the wounds found on her body; puncture marks.”

“You know what they say about stab wounds,” Sole’s voice was grave, “and how they’re a sort of replacement for…sex.” Sole’s face twitched as if she could not believe something so morbid crossed her mind.

“Yeah, I know – but you’re right.  We have to assume that there was some sort of sexual component to this murder.  That and the symbols of matrimony; I think that whoever this person is, their motive is romantically related.  They’ve managed to incorporate two different aspects of a conventional romantic relationship so far.” Nick rested his chin in the palm of a hands.

“Maybe they’re unable to cultivate such a relationship themselves,” Sole suggested.

“Not a bad idea, doll.”

They were quiet for a few moments.  Nick got out two cigarettes, one for him and one for Sole, and lit for them.  Both of them could use something to take the edge off, they had seen enough in the past few days to last a lifetime.  The floor was clean, and yet somehow, they were still walking with a cautiousness to not cut themselves.

“One thing that’s bothering me though,” Sole said after a few pensive puffs, “a display case is pretty fragile, and yet he still tossed it through the window.  It’s sheer luck the wings weren’t damaged.  Maybe he just really is that sloppy but…”  Sole trailed off.

“…But he was meticulous enough to get away with planting evidence in your private dressing room, so why this slip? And why now?” Nick finished for her.

Sole’s forlorn silence was confirmation enough.

They smoked silently for a bit; neither had the answer to such questions yet.  Then the light slanting through the window grew golden, like the ripened apples Eris tossed, and the day’s true age shown.  Nick untucked a silver pocket watch from the inside of his jacket.

“Say, don’t you have work today?”

“I do.”

Nick rose from the table, grabbing his coat.

“You get ready then, and I’ll go with.”

“Alright, just hang on, while I get dressed.”

Nick waited by the door for a while, his nerves growing increasingly sensitive as daylight leached from the sky, and night took over.  It grew dark so early, so soon these days.  His eyes darted to the window panes; obsidian in the sunless sky. Would the murder recognize him here? Or would he attack regardless, uncaring of the face the obstacle took on.  Steel frame or skeleton, ambrosia eyes or brown; an obstacle was an obstacle. When Sole came down, she was in the simplest of dresses; it was pale in color, and plain in fabric – she was just going to change once they got to the ‘Cat anyways.  Still though, his breath was every bit as stuttered as he watched her descent.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

The pair of them left the house together, both of them secretly relieved that they’d been able to this time.

-

The Tappin’ Cat was milling with patrons this night, as it was every night, but Sole’s welcome had brought an extra swell in activity – it was safe to say she’d been sorely missed. Nick left her as she climbed the stairs up and behind left stage, before finding his own private booth on the same side. He was still mulling over what Sole had said when the house lights dimmed; why toss caution to the wind at all? Why then?

Nick’s attention was snatched away with Sole’s entrance on stage; today she wore a shimmering golden number; simple but elegant, it waterfalled off of her, and reminded him of the last, dozing rays of light before the sun dipped beneath the horizon. She stepped up to the mic and regained a control he hadn’t seen her with since he’d first laid eyes on her.

“Good evening everyone, I’m sorry for being gone so long – did you miss me?”

A shower of applause met her, punctuated by a couple of hoots from some patrons who’d started their evening earlier than usual.  Nick’s chest swelled with pride.  Sole grinned, ducking her head; that’s right, Nick thought, the world just wasn’t ready for the full intensity of such a smile.  He could barely handle it himself most times.

“This piece is called,  _When You’re Smiling_ , and it’s for a very special someone out there, who stretches that ‘when’ into an infinity, just by being with me.” Her eyes found him in the audience with a quickness that made Nick burn.

He thought there might’ve been another spotlight on him; but that was just the way someone like her made you feel – like you were the only person in the world.  The band in the pit struck up a rich, jazzy tune, and Sole’s lashes stretched like spiders’ legs against her cheeks as she opened her mouth to sing.

_When you’re smilin’…keep on smilin’_ _, the whole world smiles with you._

Sole’s voice melted into him like kerosene, and he felt himself glow.  Smooth, and shambling with the spelunking tempo; one that provided ample opportunity for the couples around him to take to the dance floor. He felt a prickle of envy dagger into him; how he wished they could be one of those twirling, cake-top pairs. He’d been light on his feet as a synth, he’d no doubt that’d carried over.  Her skirts would swirl around her like the stars did in the distant sky, and his arms would be the ones to keep her grounded.  She might rest her hand – or if he were lucky – her cheek at his chest, and he’d clutch her close, like he was harboring the world’s most precious treasure.  It wasn’t a very far leap, if you’d asked him.

_And when you’re laughin’…keep on laughin’_ _, the sun comes shinin’ through._

His heart seemed to swell with the music, and a withered sort of loneliness followed in its wake.  If things were different, they may have very well been one of those couples on the dance floor, whispering secrets to each other in low voices, cloaked in the privacy of the dim lights and abundance of warm bodies in the room.  Things had been different for them in such other ways after all; and yet, she was still resigned to the stage, while he was set adrift in this sea of bubbling companionship, though only craving that of the one person he could not have it with. It was a strange position to be in; to have to trade the gravity of her in his palms for the sweetness of her voice at his ears.  An impasse; the cruelest choice he could’ve ever been asked to make.

_The great big world will smile with_ _, the whole wide world will smile with you_

She carried out the last note like a date might stall at the front door, in hopes of a goodnight kiss. Nick realized he’d still never gotten his.  The crowed erupted into a hefty wave of applause, and he was so busy musing of all the sorts of kisses he’d had yet to experience with Sole, that he’d leapt to his feet a couple of moments too late.  He met her eyes – who found him in the crowd again, as he knew they would – and he clapped heartily.  His mouth quirked into a smile, and she returned it, without the bashful drop of her chin this time.  His secret smile.

If the moment hadn’t been so rich, if Nick Valentine had found himself rooted in the grit of Diamond City that night, instead of a million miles away, on cloud nine, perhaps he would’ve seen the suspicious figure creep through the crowd; a very large fly, against the ravishing walls.  If he’d noticed such an individual, and stopped them, then perhaps the lights would not have gone dark with the abruptness of an extinguished candle. Maybe if his new, fickle, human heart had allowed him to focus, he would’ve been able to accost the shady figure before a woman’s scream pierced out into the abysmal blackness, mingled with the sound of the shot that rang out.  Deafening silence consumed the dark theater, where happy chatter and Sole’s voice had just resided a few moments before.  There was frantic buzzing in the crowd, and Nick grappled blindly in the dark in a futile attempt to reach the stage – to feel for himself, the victim the bullet had not claimed.  A sickening thud stopped him in his tracks, clear from the acoustics of the stage.  His heart dropped with it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

An ensemble of breaking glass could be heard from the bar, followed by the sound of glass showering onto the fancy, black tile as bottles and shot glasses crashed to the floor.  Footsteps thundered around Nick in the dark, like hard drumming rain as people stampeded towards the main exit.  Voices howled out, calling for their friends amidst shadowy strangers – everyone was lost here.  Every time a woman’s scream pierced through the white noise of the frightened crowd, Nick took it and replayed it in his head, again and again, desperate to find Sole in it.  He turned the sound over and around in his mind; too nasal for her, too low, or else, maybe too pained for him to even entertain the thought.

The notion of this struck a deep fear through him, and it shocked him into motion.  It was like a live wire was strung through him and pulling him through the dark towards the stage.  The entire ‘Cat was done up in black and deep reds; it set the mood when highlighted by the sultry, dim club lights, but only emphasized the dark vacuum now.  The polished finish of the floors was cold against his palms.  People were still surging past him to the front door, and Nick shrank closer to the ground – half afraid that his new, fragile body might be trampled, but not wanting to risk standing and getting hit by a stray bullet.  He slunk low across the floor until something hard looming ahead, stopped him.  Raising his fingers methodically, they ran up the steep edge of whatever it was, before the hard surface dropped away again suddenly.  He pushed his hand as far as it could go, and a few inches later, it found the surface again.  Stairs.  Nick clambered up them clumsily and still on all fours, keeping his body as low as it could stay.  He felt vulnerable, rising in this situation, though there had not been another shot since the first.  He felt the cool, heavy fabric of the curtain wash over him as he passed through, and he was grateful to see that backstage was not pitch-black like the front of the house was.  Bright, red utility lights trailed evenly along the walls in their cages, glowing sinisterly as they glanced off the silhouettes of furniture and discarded sets.  Out of the corner of Nick’s eyes there was a flash of movement, but when he jerked his eyes towards it, he saw nothing.  Rising tentatively to his feet, Nick crept along the main backstage area, looking around himself deliberately, his eyes scanning his surroundings.

“ _Sole!_ ” he hissed.

There was no response.

He kept moving, quietly, on the balls of his feet, until he reached Sole’s dressing room once again.  His hand moved to the knob and turned it slowly, looking around him once more as he did so.

The door was unlocked.

He pushed it in cautiously, opening it a sliver and peeking through just like Sole taught him, before opening it fully.  Nick heard a sharp intake of breath and turned towards the sound.  Sole was huddled in the furthest corner of her dressing room, her face a frozen mask of shock engraved in her trembling frame. 

“C’mon, we’ve got to go!”

Nick reached for her, grabbing her firmly by the wrists and hoisting her up.  She stiffened, but her legs unfolded and didn’t buckle as he stood her up.  Nick switched to just taking one of her hands, before pulling her towards the door.

“I…it was…” Sole’s voice was faint, her words jumbling like the lights had just been cut on them now.

“I know, doll, but we’ve got to go.” He urged.

Back in the main backstage area, Nick all but dragged Sole towards the back exit, the path there lit up by the ominous looking red circles tossed to the floor, by the emergency lights activated on the walls.  Sole was running on autopilot and so her legs moved obediently under Nick’s guidance. 

“Who was shot?” she muttered puzzledly to herself, as she and Nick broke through to cool, night air. 

Nick glanced back at her, dread icing his bloodstream; that’s right – there might be another body.  His gaze dropped abruptly when he could place the relief that washed over him.  Whoever it was, it wasn’t Sole.  The chaotic milling of the crowd had moved outside since Nick had struggled through them last.  DC Guard members clustered around the outside of the Tappin’ Cat, holding swatters and guns of varying calibers.  The evacuated patrons roamed outside, looking as dazed as Sole did, calling out the names of those they’d came with, and collapsing into each other distraughtly when their familiar faces popped up in response.  Those who had no such luck continued to roam around in a disoriented state, their eyes searching the crowd.  One of them was going to have the worst night of their life tonight.  Hysteria and bewilderment hung as heavily in the air as smoke might – sticking in people’s throats as they let out choked sobs.  Nick could feel the ominous tone in the air cling to his skin, like a cold sweat.  He rubbed his forearms absent mindedly.  Out of the throngs of people, a member of the Guard approached them, his long nose and baby face familiar through the wired cage of his helmet.

“Sir – excuse me, sir, can we ask you a few questions?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed in puzzlement, before he realized that the face recognizing this kid, must not be very recognizable itself.

“At ease, kid – Claus was it?  It’s me, Nick Valentine.  We met the night of the murder.”

The man raised his eyebrow and stumbled back a few steps at the sound of Nick’s voice.

“You…changed!” he gasped.

Nick chuckled bleakly, “I did.  Maybe if we stop meeting like this, we can have a drink sometime and I’ll give you all the gory details, but for now, we’ve got work to do.”

“R-right,” he agreed, nodding adamantly, a million questions still written all over his face.

“Now, what have you guys got so far?”

Claus sighed heavily, before bouncing his shoulders up into a feeble shrug.

“Nothing!  No one knows anything. It was a normal night, and then suddenly the lights cut out, everyone heard a gunshot, and it was absolute pandemonium.”

Nick pulled a cigarette from his pocket, holding the carton out in offering to the other man before pocketing it when he declined.  Lighting it, he took a drag, exhaling a steady stream of smoke.

“It’s the same story on our end.  We were in the club when it happened, but we can’t tell you anything more.”

Claus shook his head.

“We just got done questioning the bouncer as well; Alef Eklund – he saw nothing.  Which leaves us with…a whole lotta nothin’.”

Nick’s brow creased and he stared daggers through the whisper of smoke that floated in front of him, like a veil.

“Not quite – if the bouncer didn’t recognize anything out of sorts, then that means the culprit either snuck in, or blended in with the crowd.”

His stomach churned as he pictured his own assailant cloaked in black again, slipping through the fire exit he and Sole had just taken, lurking so close to her as she dressed for her performance.  If he’d chosen to do anything then, Nick would’ve been peeking under a tarp to identify a corpse right about now.

Now the only things Nick knew for sure, was that the culprit was a chameleon; and a rather dangerous one at that.  Somehow Channel and Sole had gotten tangled into this vicious web, and the only common ground these women shared lay with the Tappin’ Cat.  Unfortunately, it did little to narrow down the list of suspects.  He looked at Sole, still shaking, wide-eyed and empty, as if the real Sole he’d come to know; the warm, vibrant one, rattled away inside this empty shell.  Even if Nick hadn’t become as involved as he’d had, he wouldn’t bet there’d be a long list of schmuks ready to kill for her (he didn’t dare consider his own position on such a matter.)  Could there exist someone who wanted to harm _her_ , though?  His gaze rested intently on her, trying to peel away the fatigue of the past few days and the glitz of the days prior.  It dawned on him just how little about Sole he knew.  She was his moon; he needed her, looked to her constantly, she was radiant, after all.  But he had yet to see the cold, cruel part of her – a part everyone had hidden away in themselves – that remained coveted by the vast darkness of space.

Claus was quiet too, as Nick sifted through his thoughts, although, he didn’t quite know where to go from here.  He too, turned his attention to Sole.

“She doesn’t look so good.”

“Yeah,” Nick raised a hand to place it on her shoulder, “I should probably get her home.”

Sole jerked under his sudden touch, and Claus’ face became sympathetic. 

“Alright then, we’ll come to you if we hear anything else, Detective.”

Claus took his leave and Sole fell into Nick, her fingers balling the fabric of his clothes in her fists.  Nick’s arms came around her, pulling her into him for support.  She untucked her head from under his arm and looked up at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“Do I have to go home tonight?”

-

Ellie was still at the Agency when Nick and Sole returned.  She rushed forward to greet them, Sole stood numbly.

“Are you alright?  I heard something happened at the ‘Cat tonight!” Ellie’s eyes were wide and frantic.  She looked to Nick first, and then to Sole, her hands reaching forward to rest on the performer’s shoulders, appraising her at an arms’ length.  “Goodness, you look like you’ve had a hell of a day, honey,” Ellie’s hands rubbed soothingly at Sole’s shoulders, trying to coax some sort of response from her.

“Would you stay with her for a while?  I wanted to go back to the site and scrounge around for some clues.”

“Of course,” Ellie nodded reassuringly to Nick, as she gently corralled Sole to a chair.

Then, Sole turned, breaking away from Ellie and surprising them both as she ran to Nick.  Her hand went to his chest again, but her gaze still lurked at the ground.

“While you’re there, could you please pick up my clothes from my dressing room?” she murmured quietly.

“Consider it done,” his hand reached up to brush at her chin.

Ellie turned away, busying herself with tidying the already meticulous desk as they lingered with each other for a moment before Nick was out the door again. 

When Nick stepped out, he was alone in the narrow pathway winding through the lower-stands.  Shadows melted into the dark of the Commonwealth night, disguised until he passed directly in front of them, where they seemed to leap out at him.  Sometimes, he half-expected the killer to leap out too.  It was strange, he thought, as he rounded the block and headed towards the Tappin’ Cat again.  There were still people hanging around, albeit not as many as before.  The DC Guard was gone by now, and the lack of commotion told Nick that a body hadn’t been recovered after all.  So, the gunman had missed entirely.

The meager win stacked enough confidence in the old synth to push him through the back door he and Sole had escaped out of earlier.  He doubted anyone had stepped foot backstage since he last had; the red, emergency lights were still on and not any less sinister though the immediate panic had dissipated.  He traced their frenzied path from earlier back to Sole’s dressing room and flicked on the lights.  The low-hanging, rustic styled light fixture stuttered as it came on, accompanied by the theatrical, patterned bulbs at Sole’s vanity.  Light flooded the room and Nick instantly picked out the discarded gray ensemble Sole had worn earlier, draped carelessly on her sofa.  His mouth quirked upwards into a smile; a gesture that felt foreign to him in the wake of the night’s tension, before he moved to pick it up.  As he turned to leave, something resting on the vanity stood out amidst the shiny trinkets and baubles; a stack of envelopes, varying in colors and styles, with a myriad of scrawls ranging from literal chicken scratch to elegant cursive.  The stack was rubber-banded together into a convenient transportable parcel, although the volume of mail ensured it would just barely fit into the inner pockets of Nick’s jacket.  Approaching them, he caught a whiff of cologne, and spotted lavish hearts doodled on some of them.

Huh.  Why hadn’t it crossed his mind before that she’d have fans other than him?  She was a favorite after all.

Nick grabbed the mail and tucked it into his jacket – his suspicions correct, they just barely fit.  Still though, so long as he could get them back to Sole, it was all well enough.  He left the lights on as he exited the dressing room; not wanting to flush himself into total darkness again as he made his way back through the front of the house.  He squinted as the faint outlines of silhouettes swam into his vision.  Glass crunched underfoot– he’d have to invest in a flashlight or something, his new eyes didn’t do boo for him in these sorts of conditions like his old, glowing optics had.  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as unease settled inside him, a shifty, bristling cat.  He felt as if amidst the swirling shadows, there was something, or someone watching him.  He kept walking, now beelining towards the front door – he’d find no clues like this anyways, he’d have to come back in the morning.  Each crumbled footstep seemed to emphasize Nick’s growing trepidation.  No sooner had Nick’s hand caught the cold, metal of the door handle, a distant clatter confirmed his suspicions that he wasn’t alone.  His head whipped back, searching the dark, but finding nothing.  Such smothering blackness incapacitated him.  He wrenched the door open and ran out.

-

Nick placed the stack of mail on the side table beside Sole, tucking the soft-knit garment he’d retrieved beside it.

“I saw this in your room while I was there, thought you might want to read them in your spare time.”

A wide smile spread across her face.

“Thank you!”

He perched on the arm of the chair as Sole reached for the letters and unbound them.   She fanned the letters out like playing cards; their candy-hued envelopes cheerful and girlishly cute.  Nick watched her pick one up and trace her finger lovingly along the edge of it, her eyes cherishing the inscription on the front – a personal memento from the sender.

“How long have you been getting them?”

“Oh, let’s see now,” Sole thought as she gently peeled the flap back, and opened it, careful not to rip the paper.  “Probably about a year now, maybe a little over.”

“Do you get any repeat senders?”

“Sure, I have a few regulars – some who send one every week, in fact.”

Nick gave a small smile as he watched her read the first letter, she handled it with the care of a precious heirloom.  Did she save the letters, he wondered, perhaps that’s what they’d become to her – salvaged remnants of her days as a beloved performer, at what was quickly beginning to be the pinnacle of post-war culture in Diamond City. 

“Nick!”  Ellie’s voice called from the Agency’s main level.

Sole looked up as Nick stood.

“Don’t worry doll, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Oh, okay.” Her eyes lingered on him until he disappeared down the stairs, and even then, they hung in the space where he’d been just a few moments before, fresh fear settling like dust.

When Nick found Ellie, she was holding the door open, one hand on her hip as she stared Till Tosto down.  Unexpected satisfaction welled in Nick as he watched the man’s discomfort and he relished the idea of small, lovely Ellie melting Till on the spot as he drew nearer.

“This man says he has something important to tell you,” Ellie explained, her eyes still stabbing into Till.

“Hmph,” Nick raised an eyebrow skeptically, “It’s fine precious, let him in.”

Ellie immediately relented at Nick’s direction, returning to her own desk without another glance towards the man, who watched her carefully, like she might bite him as he entered the Agency.

“Go on, have a seat.” Nick nodded at his own desk’s chair.

He leaned against the desk and lit a cigarette as Till sat down.  He held the carton out in offering, to which Till shook his head graciously, holding his hand up in the universal sign of decline.

“You look different.”

“A lot of things have changed since the last time I’ve seen you,” Nick said, letting his cigarette rest between his index and middle finger.  “The last time you were here, for instance, you and your mother were screaming bloody murder about a ring,”

“Yeah well, that’s…uh,” Till swallowed nervously, and fidgeted.  He resembled Travis Miles an awful lot now.  “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about again.”

Nick watched him, saying nothing.

“You see, my mother, she can be…”

_Terrible?  Horrible?  Positively boorish?_

“…difficult.  So, I said nothing at the time, but despite what it looks like, I don’t think Sole took the ring.”

Nick couldn’t conceal his surprise – his human face was not accustomed to stifling such a swift onslaught of shock. 

“I know how it must look…with the ring in her dressing room and stuff.  But it still doesn’t tell us _why_ she would do it.”

Nick’s gaze flicked to the stairs leading up to the loft, where Sole sat.

“Do you have anything else you can tell me?  I’m going to need more than just a gut feeling.” Nick said.

Till blanched.

“Well, for starters, I…” he hesitated, “I wasn’t completely honest when I said I had never stepped a toe out of line, you see.”

Nick kept his face impassive.

“Go on.”

“Channel was new to the ‘Cat, but she was doing really well all things considered.  She had all these adoring fans, gathering to see her every night she sang, sending her flowers, and buying her drinks, I just – “

“You were jealous?”

“Not just of the men!” Till answered hotly, “She went to a job where all she had to do was be herself – do what she loved and be _adored_.  Meanwhile, I’m out at the wall working like a dog every _freaking_ day just to make ends meet.  You’ve gotta understand; you’re a man too after all.  What I did wasn’t right, but I’m not a bad guy!”

Nick puffed quietly on his cigarette.

“So, you did cheat on Mrs. Tosto?”

Nick’s stomach knotted as he waited for Till to answer.  His lips threatened the soft end of his cigarette, as images of that man touching Sole, holding her – crooning to her in honeyed words that he slung around like cheap liquor.

“I…considered it.  Sole and I ended up not being compatible though.”

Nick’s nose twitched in amusement.

“She rejected you?”

“It just didn’t work out.” Till said shortly.

More pleasant images of Sole came to mind now; Sole in his shirt, draped over the armchair, leaning in to him like she would drink him up instead of the remaining sips of whiskey in her glass.  Sole as she was right now, still in her dazzling dress, dripping with gold as she read her letters, and tucking each kind sentiment into the closest corners of her heart. 

“Tell me,” Nick said suddenly, “did Channel get…fan mail?”

“Huh?  Oh sure, all the girls do, although Channel and Sole got more than most did, I’d say.”

His cheeks pinkened at Sole’s name.

“Most of the letters were just admirers and fans, you know?  Saying how talented and gorgeous they were.  Some sent flowers or sprayed their letters with cologne; tacky stuff like that.  There was one guy though, that just rubbed me the wrong way.”

Both Nick and Till’s faces creased with interest.

“Some guy named Harold?  No, no…that’s not right.  Henry?”  Till thought hard for a moment, “No, wait! It was _Humphrey_.  Yeah, that guy was a real fruitcake.” Till made a face.  “He was more Sole’s fan than Channel’s – used to tell her how proud he was of her and stuff, as if she were _his_.” He snorted.  “When Sole and I were…chatting, the fucker started running his mouth around Channel.  Getting’ me in trouble and stuff.”

Realization held Nick taut, although realization of what, he hadn’t quite placed.

“Then what happened?  You stopped?  You and Channel fought it out?”

“No,” Till said, looking at Nick strangely, “Then Channel died.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Following the static-shocked silence that trailed in the wake of Till’s cryptic response, it had been too late to track down this ‘Humphrey’; the moon had vaulted over the pinnacle of the sky by then, and floated down like an off-white air balloon no one would ever be able to catch.  Meanwhile, the cogs in Nick’s head ceaselessly turned, and kept him up all night. He passed the hours in a vicious cycle of pacing, smoking, and reviewing the facts of the case.  The bulletin board that looked down at his desk was plastered with scraps of paper; current events, people, and objects all haphazardly bundled by red, telling ropes of yarn.  He could never look at it for too long, lest he become mesmerized by the portrait of Sole; a headshot she’d garnered from the Tappin’ Cat.  Channel’s headshot was pinned to the board as well, her eyes as empty as the grave; Nick avoided looking at this too.  

When the sun finally peeked over the horizon and colored the sky in milk-tones, Nick slipped out of the Agency, leaving Ellie and Sole to the upstairs loft, where he’d relinquished the space to them for the night.  Finding Humphrey proved to be an simple, albeit tedious process, and by the time Nick had secured an address from the Mayor’s office (he was much more loose-lipped than McDonough had been) and picked his way through the mess of stairs to the upper stands, it was now decidedly morning, and Diamond City had come alive.  

Nick knocked on the old hickory door, an elegantly carved ‘ _544_ ’ fixed on it.  The door didn’t open until Nick had half a mind to turn around and come back later. Then the door opened halfway, and a small, gaunt face loomed in the opening.  Dark circles shadowed the area under the man’s eyes more intensely than they did on Nick’s own.  His hair fell in a moppish manner around his face and was a mousy gray-brown.  

“Yes?” the face asked in a reedy voice that matched his thin, colorless lips.

“Detective Valentine. Lookin’ for a guy named Humphrey. He around?”

“Away on  _business_.”

Maybe it was the shifty character, but the way he said the last word made Nick feel like he had a gun at his back.

“What’s your name?”

“Oddon.”

“Oddon, is it?  Oddon – do you work for Humphrey?”

“I do,” Oddon answered shrewdly, “I’ve been under Mr. Stierwalt’s employ for about ten years now, give or take.”

“Huh.”  Nick appraised the man, not sure what to do with this information, but not wanting to leave.

The detective stared at Oddon, and Oddon stared back; each one holding the daunting potential of endless miseries in their gaping unknowns.  

“Would you like to come in and wait?  Mr. Stierwalt shouldn’t be long.”

“Yeah, that’d be swell.”

The door shut for a few moments, and Nick could hear the unlatching of several locks before the door opened fully.   Nick stepped in.  The house was similar to the Tappin’ Cat in one singular way; the inside seemed to contain infinities that the outside wouldn’t even be able to fathom.  It was spacious, complete with a foyer, main living area, separate dining room, and an upstairs level.  Nick had known living in the upper stands must’ve been nice, but this was about four lower stands units melded into one luxury residence.  Oddon cleared his throat, snapping Nick’s attention back to him.

“This way please, sir.”

Nick followed obediently to the main sitting area and waiting until Oddon gestured graciously to an easy chair; the limb as willowy and transparent as the rest of him.

“If you wait here, I’m sure Mr. Stierwalt will be here shortly.”

“Right, thank you.”  

Nick took a seat, his hands itching in their idleness.  To remedy this, he began rifling through his pockets for his cigarettes, before Oddon cleared his throat.

“No smoking inside, please.”

Nick’s hand returned to his knee, the itch returning.

“Sure.”

‘Soon’ must’ve meant terribly different things to Oddon, than it did to Nick, because then hours passed, and the old, rustic cuckoo clock hanging on the wall adjacent to him burst to life as the minute hand struck noon.  Nick watched the bird fly in and out, squawking raucously, teasing him. When Nick’s idle body began to itch with a restlessness, revitalized by the clock’s break in monotony, that was when he heard a disruption at the front door.  He watched Oddon hustle to the foyer, and the sound came again; the dullest of thuds, like breath catching in the house’s throat.  The clicking of a latch coming undone could be heard from where Nick was, although it was just one this time, rather than a few.  Nick rose to his feet as the stout figure of Humphrey Stierwalt revealed itself.  He was short and squat but didn’t look like the type to try and compensate for it. His ruddy cheeks and lips peered out from around his handle-bar mustache; bristled and white like a Schnauzer’s.  The white that encroached above his ears matched the hair on his upper lip, but thinned out towards the top of his head, which shone even under the dim, library light of the residence.  

The man looked to Nick almost immediately; before Oddon could debrief him.  He approached, and the first thing that struck Nick was that he wasn’t nearly as beetle-y or meek as he’d imagined.  When he reached out to offer a hand, Nick took it and was surprised with the firmness he felt grip him back.  It was said one could tell a lot about a man from his handshake; but the jury was still out on this one.  Nick made a mental note to keep his guard up.

“You must be Nick Valentine, Diamond City’s resident detective.”

Stierwalt’s voice was that of a very important man, who knew he was very important; the only reason he didn’t look down on the synth then and there was because doing so would’ve meant admitting Nick was even a blip on his radar.  Seldom could consider themselves so lucky.  Nick wondered if Sole did.

“That’s me – and you must be Mr. Stierwalt.”

Humphrey gave a hearty laugh – one that separated him from the help but distinguished him as a benevolent master.

“I am, but there’s no use in trying to fool me, son.  I know you haven’t heard of me before, and that’s quite alright.” His eyes glinted with something a little too sharp to be mirth.  “I’m content to remain hidden behind my piles of caps.”

“I see,” Nick replied dryly, with a polite smile.

“You though – you’re the stuff of radio specials and urban legends!  The super sleuth – with all the parts of a man like me, minus a few blood cells, and yet – even that description doesn’t seem to do you justice.”

His watery eyes walked down Nick’s wiry frame.

“Yeah, I’ve recently undergone some…optimizations.”

“Hmph, well I suppose that all depends on who you ask.”

Nick opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut; this is how long it took for him to understand that despite Humphrey’s light tone, he’d just made a slight to him.

“Anyways, I take it you’re not here on a social call?  What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to ask you some questions.”

Nick watched Humphrey carefully.

“I’m an open book, ask away!” Humphrey said graciously.

“They’re questions regarding some of the girls at the Tappin’ Cat.” Nick’s tone was inadvertently meaningful; just shy of accusatory with how much it implied to know.

Humphrey’s smile faltered for one flitted instance.

“Well now, is that so?  How about we take a seat and have a chat – you can ask all your questions, although I don’t know how helpful I’ll be.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Nick replied, following Humphrey to the dining area, where they took seats opposite of each other.  

Nick noticed that Oddon closed the doors leading to this area after they had been seated and did not offer any further assistance.  The grand double doors shut with a beat of finality.   _Abandon all hope ye who enter here_ , echoed in Nick’s mind, but he kept it to himself, feeling that even if Humphrey was as well-read as he suspected, he would not be amused with Dante joining them that afternoon.

“Now,” Humphrey started when they had both gotten settled, reaching into his coat pocket to tug a cigar out, and place it to his lips.  “why exactly are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Channel Tosto.”

Humphrey lit his cigar in an unaffected manner.

“She the dead girl?”

“The very one, and I’m trying to find out who did it.”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” Humphrey puffed, “but that doesn’t tell me why you’re here with  _me_.”

The rising edge of his tone seemed to dare Nick to point the finger right then and there.

“I’ve heard from a few folks that you’re a regular at the ‘Cat, so I just thought it couldn’t hurt to see if you’ve seen anything around there the past few times.”

“Something tells me that if I say ‘no’, you’ll still be here for who knows how long, asking your questions anyways.”

“I’m already here; I should be thorough.  Surely a man of your…caliber understands.”

Humphrey laughed, but the sound was not a friendly one.

“Flattery will get you absolutely no where with me Valentine, so how about you just ask your questions.”

Nick reached into his pockets and procured his palm-sized notepad and a half of a pencil.  He brushed the tip at his tongue, before pressing the wettened lead to paper.

“Alright, so were you familiar with Channel Tosto’s work at the ‘Cat before she died?”

“Sure, she was a singer.”

“Did you like her?”

Humphrey’s eyes shined like pennies.

“She was alright, certainly not the best the ‘Cat had to offer, but she was new and all, so no one held it against her too much.

“Including you?”

“I said  _no one_ , Detective.”

“So, if not Channel, then who do you think were some of the better performers?”

“There was only one,” Humphrey said decisively, “Ms. Sole.”

“And what do you like about her?”

Humphrey pulled his cigar away and leaned it up against the ashtray.

‘What I mean is,” Nick tried again, “was what did she do right, that set her apart from the other singers, like Channel?”

“I understood your question the first time,” the quiet that backdropped Humphrey’s voice seemed as ominous as his voice was stinging.  “And I reckon, what I like about her is much the same as what you do, Detective.”

Nick set the pencil down, and all pretenses slipped off.  The snake was shedding its skin.  Nick cleared his throat, his eyes boring into Humphrey’s.

“Were you aware of Channel’s marital status?”

“Her relationships interested me much less than Sole’s do.”

“And why is that?”

“Surely you could answer that yourself.”

“I’m here looking for answers.  I’m here to  _solve a murder_.” Nick replied hotly.

His sensitive human body was not yet accustomed to the rage that fizzled out so quickly in his gen-2 frame.

“You may have gone in looking for answers, but you ended up finding a whole lot more.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Nick couldn’t hide his animosity any longer.

To his credit, gen-2 Nick’s impressively thick, unwearing patience was probably due to the fact that he couldn’t feel his blood boil as biting displeasure flashed through him like wildfire.

“It means that you can play the devoted public servant all you want, Valentine, but just as you place yourself into the filthy shoes of some low-life, scum-sucking perpetrator to catch him, I know what you feel – what you’re  _thinking_.” Humphrey grinned meanly, his yellowed teeth flashed, “I know you pine for her now in the flesh, as you did when you were but a tin man! I know you lay awake at night picturing her in your arms, and that you think because you’re no longer lacking ‘a few red blood cells’, and such other parts –“ Humphrey’s gaze slunk down Nick’s frame again – “that you’re whole enough for her.  Well, you’ve got another think comin’!”

Nick gnashed his teeth together, and he gripped the wooden ridge beneath the table so tightly, his knuckles were white with tension.

“That other fella thought he had what it took too,” Humphrey continued relentlessly, “because he knew  _married_  life – pah!  He knew just enough to sully it, and then he had the audacity to try to get his grubby paws on Sole.  Well, I’ll tell ya right now, she deserves a real man, a champion – someone who can ward off the vermin that threaten her success, her beauty – someone who started out a whole man and stayed one.”

“Someone like  _you_?” Nick asked darkly.  

He was to get a proper confession even if it killed him.  At this point, it felt like Humphrey was the one toeing the precarious line of his mortality.

“Nice try, Detective,” Humphrey wagged his finger at Nick, “but you can’t pin your sins on me.”

Humphrey lurched to his feet, bulbous body forcing his chair back with the anguished screech of wood against tile.

“Now, I think you’ve overstayed your welcome quite a bit.  I’ll be polite and ask you to leave the premises.”

No sooner had Humphrey gestured towards the door, Nick grabbed his memo pad and pencil, and shoved them back into his jacket pocket – not a single word was recorded.  He threw the double doors open, letting them hit carelessly against the walls.  Through the red haze, he barely noticed Oddon scamper by before Nick had taken to the front door and stormed out.

-

Nick’s pace was furious, his gait lashing down the path back to the Agency.  The thought of Sole waiting for him back there made his gut pit inside of him – it confirmed Stierwalt’s accusations.  Perhaps he should tack his own picture on the board, Nick mused bitterly.  It was sick, and in the chilled afternoon air, as people milled about him – the very same people Nick had strived to protect and help, watched him fraternize with a cabaret singer while a murderer plagued Diamond City.  His mind had been telling him all along though, hadn’t it? Had admonished every caress and shooed away every indulgent thought.  It was his heart, his stupid, stupid heart that had tangled him deeper in her web – left him scrambling for release now that it was too late.  The damage had been done, his reputation soiled, his body only too fallible, and he, hopelessly, pathetically, in love with Sole.

Anger burned livid and fresh in him as he weaved through those he passed on his way back to the lower stands, his head bowed beneath his hat, his jacket pulled around him – more for him to feel concealed than anything else – he doubted anyone recognized him at this point anyways.  Hell, he barely recognized himself.  He was simmering by the time his fingers brushed against the cold metal of the door handle; it did nothing to cool his seething temper.  Half of him wanted to take a long walk – this rage, like the body that nurtured it, was not his.  The other half wanted to go in and kiss Sole with a ferocity that would make her burn too. He deliberated for a couple of minutes before resigning himself to returning to the Agency without kissing Sole.

What he saw once the door swung open sapped him cold.

Paper littered the floor; files and those that had been pinned to the bulletin board.  Segments of red yarn trailed around, mingling macabrely with furious splatters of blood.  Nick’s heart shunted ice water into his bloodstream as he spotted a blood smear in the vague shape of a handprint by Ellie’s desk.  He rounded the corner, and while he dreaded what he knew he’d see, it gutted him all the same.  

Ellie lay crumpled on the ground, the massive pool of blood she sat in undoubtedly the source of the rest of the spotting that was trailed around the Agency.  A deep, puncture wound tore through her abdomen; similar to the ones Channel had suffered, except instead of poking clean holes, the assailant favored a ‘connect-the-dots’ approach, and tore a gaping, ragged wound.  The copper tang of blood had not yet been experienced by him in this new body; and he had to clench his jaw and take hissing breaths through his teeth in order to keep himself from being sick at the sight of her viscera poking through the jagged lips of the wound.

Nick crouched at her side, her name on the tip of his tongue, as he took her in his arms, and edged his fingertips at the crook beneath her jaw bone, feeling for a dull throb.  All he felt was her deadweight and the wetness of blood seeping through the material of his clothes.  Her name died there, without him speaking it.

-

It was dark now; night had firmly dug its heels into the ground, fussily keeping the light of day away. It wasn’t so late that the streets of Diamond City were empty, but it was late enough that the smattering of DC Guard members loitering around the Valentine Detective Agency stood out like a sore thumb.  Passers-by probably would’ve taken pause to look on with morbid fascination, if Nick hadn’t been out there smoking, like a melancholic gargoyle.  If Ellie were here, she probably would’ve scolded him for glaring; but then again, if Ellie were there, he might not have been glaring at all. Berzins emerged from the Agency, letting the metal door fall shut with an unceremonious  _clang_.  Nick extinguished his cigarette underfoot and turned to him expectantly.

Berzins sighed.

“We only found the one body,” he pressed his mouth into a thin line, “but considering the mess he left behind, I’m not optimistic that the missing girl is any better off.”

“Don’t say that,” Nick snapped.

Berzins let it slide, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.  

“I’m sorry Nicky –  _real_  sorry.  Ellie was…well, she was a real, sweet gal.”

Nick’s heart felt like it was quivering inside him, like his rage had seized hold of his ribs, and shook him violently.  The words he wanted to spit at Berzins’ sheepish face churned in his stomach, all bile, and poison and sickness.   _‘Sweet’ is a piss poor cop-out to honor her memory._  He said nothing.  The logical part of Nick; or whatever part of that remained, wanted to demand Berzins give him a starting point as to where to start looking for Sole, wanted to demand that the entire DC Guard fan out, and get searching. But buried in the debris of the night’s trauma, Nick knew where to start already.  Knew who had slaughtered Ellie, and who was hiding Sole.  And if luck would have it, he bet he’d know exactly where she was being held.

He turned away from the Agency, the flickering neon-pink sign winking scornfully at him – that had been Ellie’s touch.  His muscles ached with exhaustion, his joints feeling as rickety as they had in his old body – if he’d looked in a mirror, he’d bet he’d see that the poor bastard whose body he’d taken, had aged a thousand years.  Still though, he set his eyes on the Tappin’ Cat; its marque letters and spotlights still beaming brightly, festively even, into the night.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Nick was drawn to the Tappin’ Cat like there were wires tugging at him from the floated bubbles of lights, but he knew he had to make sure, for Sole’s very life hung precariously from seconds on the clock.  He turned and wrenched the door open, steeling himself for the copper tang of blood as it washed over him; dank and putrid.  The body had been removed at the arrival of the DC Guard, but death’s presence clung to the trails of blood.  Nick climbed up to the Agency’s loft and found the stack of letters laying on the side table, still fanned out from when Sole last touched them.  The envelopes were torn open now, the letters sticking out from the jagged edges like dainty, paper pocket squares.  Nick turned the envelopes over, his eyes scanning over the winding trails of ink several times before he finally registered what he read; some names he recognized and some he didn’t.  Two hit him with the force of a power fist to the face.  

The first,  _Humphrey Stierwalt_  written in loopy, flamboyant cursive came as no surprise.  Had the events of the night not been so gutting, Nick might’ve been amused at the notion of the rat bastard writing love letters to Sole – a woman more than half his age.  With stiff fingers, he unsheathed the neatly folded paper, and let it unravel before him to read;

_My sweet…what I wouldn’t give to have and to hold you.  For better or for worse, this is how things must remain between us – you, a rose, and me, the one who cannot bear to pick it.  Never the less, I pledge myself to you, and wait upon you to return the gesture, lest death do us part._

Nick’s brow furrowed deeply as the flowery script swam circles in his brain.  That one single part he still somewhat shared with the old Nick.  Admittedly his flashes of the original Nick Valentine’s life grew less frequent as this Nick’s years in the Commonwealth grew plenty, sort of like taping over an already used holotape.  He gave up the original Valentine’s seedy city for his own, traded in a public police force for a small, private Agency with Ellie.  He no longer remembered smaller details, like the morning lovemaking the old Nick did with Jennifer Lands, or how on their anniversary he’d surprise her with her favorite flowers.  The big moments still stuck though, if the precise shade of blue of Jennifer’s eyes, and the old Nick’s preference for Camel cigarettes were quiet, nuanced dents in his processor, then his sister’s wedding was a giant, ragged furrow.  

It had been such an especially vivid memory because Nick and Jennifer had first broached the topic of marriage themselves on this day.  She had been wearing a red dress, summery and festive, her bare arms clutched at the old Nick’s; in his usual gray suit.  While the exact details of her face swam in and out of focus, Nick could feel the phantom of the sun-warmed crown of her head, tucked affectionately into the crook of his neck.  Up at the altar, a young bride and groom stood gazing into each other’s eyes, their hands clasped in a low hold.  All eyes rested expectantly on the groom.

“ _I Pamalla, take thee Clemensia, to be my wedded wife, to_ have and to hold _, from this day forward,_ for better, for worse _, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish,_ ‘till death do us part _, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto_ I pledge myself to you _._ ”

Dreaded affirmation dawned on Nick and scattered the memory into dust. Somehow, this felt like the most taunting of the matrimony symbols thus far; it refused to let up in meaning. Whilst the others could’ve been somewhat debatable in symbolism, Humphrey’s deliberate twisting of the once-sacred words left no room to soften the blow.  Venom spiked in Nick’s blood, as Stierwalt’s ruddy, pig-face popped up in his mind, fat lips spread into a repulsive smile.  He took great care not to tear the paper (much as he would’ve liked to) before folding it into uneven quarters and shoving the letter into his coat pocket.  Nick turned back to the other letter that had caught his eye – nearly opposite to Humphrey’s in appearance.  The stationary was plain; probably the same sort of cheap, scavved stuff he and Ellie had used around the Agency.  The handwriting was angled and sharp, similar to how one’s might look if they’d whittled the note into the side of a tree.  Instead of elegant tails at the end of each phrase, there were deep, charcoal scores where the author had scratched a word or phrase out so violently, the paper puckered out on the other side, holes nearly drawn through it.  Nick ran his fingers across the deep indents, trying to trace the emotional wreckage that littered the paper in the form of lead smears and discoloration – tear stains? -as he read;

_Dearest Sole,_

_I cannot hide any_

_I saw you with that sy_

_I can’t wait any longer.  Tonight, we will be together one way or another._

He folded the letter similarly to how he’d folded Humphrey’s, before tucking it in the same pocket of his coat.  Then he turned and left the Agency, the name still visible at his pocket had someone been looking for it;  _Tiberius Stierwalt_.

-

Despite the spotlights that circled like vultures outside, the Tappin’ Cat looked as empty as the last time Nick had been there, although only half as dark.  Instead, it was just abysmally dim, with floated halos of candlelight flickering in clusters around the perimeter of the main room.  It still looked sort of grand, Nick thought, with the snowing of broken glass on the floor refracting warm orange in inspired flickers made it tragically so.  The acrid stench of gasoline hung heavy in the air and nearly stung Nick’s eyes.  He crossed the once splendid floor on crunching footsteps, the wet glimmer of spilled fuel glinting too frequently under his gaze as he did.  The horrendous combo of the unattended candles and the invisible strength of the gas was not lost on him.  He began to tread faster.  As he neared the stage, Nick began to make out the faint murmurs – a man’s voice, low and controlled.  It was the voice of someone younger than him; probably a man in his early to mid-twenties. Nick couldn’t quite make out what it was saying, but he could tell that whatever words were there, were clearly not only meant for him.  

The one-sided conversation grew louder as Nick crept around through the backstage area, making his way down the narrow path leading to Sole’s dressing room.  The harsh red of the emergency lights were softened with the smattering of candles on this side of the curtain as well, but it did little to ease Nick’s nerves as he stepped, careful not to creak the wood floors beneath him.  How many times had he walked this path?  And every single one of them had been in pursuit of an ugly truth, or in the wake of one.  He vowed to drop by with a bouquet of flowers for her when this whole mess was over. Nick sank low when he reached directly outside Sole’s dressing room, crouching stealthily and rolling onto the balls of his feet.  The door was half-open, and Nick flattened himself to the wall, peering carefully around the door frame.  Sole was slumped haphazardly along the length of her sofa, the careless toss of her limbs indicating to Nick that it was not she who moved them in that way.  

Anger that surprised even him seared Nick as he made out the splotching bruise that blossomed at her jaw. Similar shadowed marks peppered her right bicep, and Nick could imagine someone seizing her roughly by her arms. He ought to kick the teeth in of the bastard that marred her like that.  Sole’s left eye was already blackened and swollen shut.  Her limp frame wasn’t in the dress Nick had last seen her in, instead she was sloppily attired in a white sundress, dated, and more fitting on a little girl’s baby doll, than a glamorous cabaret singer.   Nick’s stomach flipped when he noticed the plastic tubing that fed into a switch looking mechanism, medically taped to Sole’s wrist, hanging laxed off the side of the sofa, the needle protruding from its point of entry.  An empty, glass vial lay forgotten under the couch.

The muttering was now close enough for Nick to reach out and catch in his hands, courtesy of the big, brutish lug standing opposite Sole, from across the coffee table.  Nick spent his initial moments studying the man’s face; broad and square, with a hooked nose, and small, pinched eyes.  Long, uneven lines streaked down his face at various angles, at times crosshatching with others.  In some places, the lines flaked with peeling skin, in others, dots of blood beaded tentatively to scab later.  His cheeks and lips held a familiar ruddiness that made Nick’s blood boil. He wasn’t sure what had thrown him more; the striking resemblance this hulking man had to kettle-shaped Humphrey Stierwalt, or how despite him wearing the same black ensemble, save for the head piece, Nick struggled to place him as his assailant.  His stature certainly fit, Nick thought as he eyed the man’s beefy fingers – perfect for near-yanking his lights out.  

Between Sole and Tiberius, with almost movie prop convenience, was the final piece in the Channel Tosto murder.  Incidentally, this was also the very, first piece.  Leaning casually against the vanity, almost like a proposition, was a wrought iron fire poker with a brass handle.  Nick squinted and tried to find traces of rust-colored blood left caked and flaking at the tip.  He couldn’t from where he was currently crouched.  

Still though, such a small, unassuming item had changed everything for Nick, even though it was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on it.  It had propelled him into a series of sleepless nights for a variety of reasons. He’d fallen in love because of what this fire poker had been used for.  He’d gained those few blood cells he’d been missing because of what its wielder had done.  Ellie Perkins was dead because she had been caught at the wrong end of it.  A tension that had been coiling in his heels unbeknownst to Nick launched him into the dressing room.  Tiberius’ eyes were wide, void of any anger as he watched Nick Valentine bring his arm back, before snapping it forward.  Then, anger came like righteous fire bursts where his irises should’ve been, right as Nick’s fist made contact with the man’s blubbery cheek.  A crack sounded, and pain flecked up through Nick’s forearm as Tiberius went down. But only for a moment.  Using his off hand, Nick picked up the fire poker himself, and brought it down on the larger man’s head as he struggled to get up. Nick looked down as Tiberius let out a groaned pain and slumped onto the floor.  From this angle, one might hardly believe he was capable of such things. He watched for a few moments longer, his eyes shifting from Tiberius’ limp form to the cluster of candlesticks his right foot had disturbed in the minor scuffle.  Red wax pooled beneath a particularly thick candle that had been knocked on its side, Nick watched the flame take tentatively to the wood floor and wallpaper, like someone dipping their toes into cold water.  He wasn’t too keen on staying to watch anymore.

He threw himself towards the sofa and took Sole in his arms.  He never even looked back at Tiberius’ body as he hoisted up her dead weight, one arm supporting her back, and the other, the crook of her knees. She looked so small in his arms. This fact and the stirring giant just a few feet away worried Nick.  He rushed from the room, as fast as his body would allow him.

For how big he was, Tiberius took no time at all in getting back up to his feet.  As Nick hurried past him, a thick arm shot out in front of him and caught the toe of his left foot, sending him and Sole tumbling to the floor.  An ache settled in his bones, it gained momentum as the seconds dragged and Nick’s ears rung.  He clenched his jaw and tasted copper as he crawled to where Sole was laying, still unconscious.  Nick had time to rip the needle from her arm and smooth the tape over the puncture wound before Tiberius emerged from the dressing room with an enraged groan.

“HEY!” he bellowed.

Nick pulled Sole back into his arms and scampered away just in time for Tiberius to swing a pudgy arm where his head had been.  The force of the attempted blow was enough to send Tiberius stumbling forward and his feet sent more candles rolling away in several different directions.  A couple of candles rolled down the stairs in rounds of asynchronous thuds.  There was a brief whisper that prefaced the combustion before the area beneath the stage erupted into flames as candleflame caught to fuel.    Nick half-carried, half-dragged Sole to the front door of the Tappin’ Cat as Tiberius clambered towards them.  His legs shook under the stress of carrying himself and Sole though – the ache in his bones had sharpened to a dragging whine that seeped into his joints.  Tiberius Stierwalt wasn’t particularly fast, or limber, but Nick was running out of steam fast, and was rationing said steam between himself and an unconscious Sole.

The distance between Tiberius and Nick closed all too fast, with too many leaps and bounds between Nick and the door remaining.  He shifted so that he was walking in a backwards limp now, with Sole leaning so heavily on him now, he was dragging her.  The fall he took and the nurtured throbbing in his marrow made it impossible for him to carry Sole, and damned hard to walk.  Now facing Tiberius, Nick reached with his free hand to pat at his coat pockets, groping blindly for the familiar crooked shape of his gun.  He deflated immediately when the only answer he got was the crinkle of the Stierwalt’s notes.  

As this realization pitted at Nick, like a stomach parasite that just kept burrowing further and further down, Tiberius was still quickly approaching.  The dull sound of metal on tile trailed his heavy steps, and it was then that Nick realized Tiberius was holding the fire poker.  A thousand rainbows glinted as the gasoline caught on the tip of the poker, and shattered glass parted for it like the Red Sea. The fire by the stage was spreading readily too, spewing thick, black smoke into the spacious room.  Nick could feel the searing heat at his face, feel his throat close around the choking air, even it wasn’t stained charcoal yet. He tried his best to adjust Sole’s position on him so that her nose and mouth were buried in his shoulder – meager protection, if not nothing, against the growing threat of inhalation.

The fire scaled the velvet curtain, and the few candles that had spilled by the stairs leading down from the stage without successfully descending the stairs, had blocked the path towards the back exit of the ‘Cat.  The overall effect was a wall of fire.  For the first time in his life, Nick Valentine had no idea what to do. What he did know, was Tiberius was nearly close enough to reach them with that poker of his.  Instincts Nick hadn’t yet grown acclimated to kicked up inside him, and he took Sole, and ran.  Had such a primal directive acknowledged the exit a mere seven feet behind them, Nick might’ve been able to get him and Sole out of the ‘Cat right then and there.  Instead, panic, fresh and strong, drove him to the left towards the bar.  Tiberius – hulking and lumbering as he was, wasn’t without a brain.  He raised his arm and brought the metal poker down on the ‘Cat’s front door handle. Nick didn’t have to see it fall to recognize the sound as it clattered to the floor.

He dragged the pair of them behind the bar and tucked themselves into a nook on the corner of Whiskey and Bourbon.  Nick leaned against the polished wood of the shelves, careful not to clank the glass bottles, and allowed himself to release the breath he’d been unknowingly holding. The sound of crunching glass and scraping metal drew nearer.  Nick held his breath again.

“The first lady was a real bitch – but that doesn’t mean she deserved to die.”

Tiberius spoke clearly for the first time in Nick’s presence.  His voice sounded young for a man of his stature – forever petulant, and with a whine that hadn’t been ironed out with adulthood.  

“It was supposed to be fun,” Tiberius continued, his voice carrying a rising edge.  “Dad and I loved this place,  _so it was supposed to be fun_!  Once I saw what he was capable of doing for Sole –“ his voice broke, and when it started again, it was like a moist sponge moldy with his tears.  “I knew I had to act fast then!  To ‘ccelerate the timeline…make her fall in love with me.”

Nick jolted, his grip on Sole tightening as the remaining glasses on top of the counter were swept to the ground, the pull on the now, slightly-dented poker like a hook yanking someone off stage.  Tiberius’ distraught voice came from right above him.  

“But then instead, she fell in love with  _you_!”

The gliding sound of glass on granite came from above once again, before more crashing ensued. Judging from the wet splatters, it had been full glassware that had been victimized this time.  Nick wasn’t pleased with what that meant for the raging fire.  By now the light fixtures, chandelier-like in their elegance, but fixed in a myriad of colorful stained glass, were enveloped by the thick, pitch-black smoke.  The rest of the ‘Cat’s main room, while not nearly as bad, was still veiled in a smoggy gray.  Every breath Nick managed to draw in felt like it left tar lining his throat, and a deep sting in his lungs.  He wheezed, and it didn’t matter if he wasn’t silent, because Tiberius choked and coughed too.  Even tucked away behind the bar, Nick felt like he was being cooked by the flames. The glass bottles pressed warmly to the exposed skin of his neck – he and Sole had to leave now.

With his arm curled protectively over Sole, Nick leaned sharply to the side, squinting through the haze to try and map Tiberius relative to an exit they could take. Pain reverberated up to his hip now.   The main door would be useless to them now, courtesy of the younger Stierwalt.  That left the back exit, and the wall of fire that separated them from it. Nick’s eyes searched what was visible of the main floor but could not find the imposing smoke-silhouette until it was hovering a few inches away from his face.  Nick looked up, his neck straining as his eyes made their way up to Tiberius’ face – he was doing a Humphrey Stierwalt in reverse.  The man’s eyes were blood-shot and puckered; Nick didn’t begrudge him that – he was battling the bite of soot in his eyes and the need to know where Tiberius was respective to them at all times.  Well, now he knew.  Even if Nick had his gun on him, he wasn’t even sure he could draw it fast enough with how close Tiberius was, his arm already raised threateningly above his head, the fire poker wielded like Excalibur.  Nick pinched his eyes shut, his grip on Sole tightening.  There was nothing left to do.  The odds had been stacked against him from the get-go and each day into this case had been another chip added to the pile.  Now it was teetering precariously, unable to support its own burden, and Nick was about to be buried in the rubble of its fall. What had Ellie used to say?   _You keep laughing at death, and one day, it’s going to laugh right back._ Nick’s heart ached at the memory, ached at what was the end before anything could ever begin really.  Ached for Mrs. Tosto – venomous as she was, and poor stupid Till. Most of all though, he ached for Sole, who was about to meet her end without knowing, or preparing.  If he saw her on the other side, he’d be sure to tell her everything.

Did synths get an afterlife? Surely, they couldn’t go where humans went.  His gen-2 body had never once entertained the thought of an afterlife, he’d always just assumed he’d stop working one day, and be scrapped.  Now though, he couldn’t imagine the sucking, ineffectual nothingness that may await him once Tiberius sent him to the abyss, expedited.

 _Bang_!  

Nick’s eyes snapped open right as the poker clattered to the floor.  Tiberius let out a pained moan – the scream dulled considerably in its coat of ash.  He swayed, trying to refind his balance as his hands reached towards his middle, trembling.  It was hard to make out through the smog and dark fabric, but when Tiberius brushed his fingers a few inches above his bellybutton, deep crimson gathered on it.

_Bang! Bang!_

Tiberius’ body jerked as if an unseen force had made impact with him, then he fell to his knees.  His arms were slack now, trailing on the ground, palms up in a lost, wanting gesture.  Rivulets of blood pooled in his hands as he hunched over them.  Nick stared intently beyond the wounded man before him, trying to find the shape of whoever had pulled the trigger, three sure times on Tiberius Stierwalt.  Nick wrenched himself to his feet, his grip on the granite top of the bar so tense, that it shook as he pulled Sole up with him.  Leaving Tiberius by the bar, still alive, but barely so, Nick limped towards the stairs of the stage.  The fire at the stage had spread to the ceiling, but beyond the perilous curtain, Nick could see the smoky path leading to the back exit, was relatively hazard free. For a second so fleeting, he wasn’t even sure it happened, Nick swore he could make out the familiar image of a man wearing a trench coat and beaten fedora, not all that different from his own. His head was tucked low under the rim of his hat, and the dancing shadows the raging inferno cast on him did little to reveal his face.  Vague recognition welled in Nick – this was the man he’d been chasing for years.  The one who’d turned up during a scuffle with muties or Gunners, helped give Nick the edge he’d needed, before disappearing again.  He had never been able to find the identity of the man, had even given up on ever doing so, despite the fact that his file was still safely tucked in a filing cabinet back at the Agency.  Nick hadn’t known what to label it, so all that was scrawled across the thin, manila folder was  _Mysterious Stranger._

“Hey!  Wait-“ Nick called out hoarsely, for a moment, forgetting where he was.

The man had already turned away, and under lanced light, Nick could just barely make out the crumbling of silicone over a steel skeleton, with a bundle of brightly colored wires running upwards on the inside against the column of his neck.  Most notably were the thick red and blue pair of wires that had Nick unconsciously reaching to rub at his jugular with his free hand.

He was gone though, and with it, Nick’s strange trance-like fixation on him.  It was about time for he and Sole to get gone too.    He stood right before the fire when he set Sole down briefly to shrug his coat off, he could feel the searing heat at his face, so hot his eyebrows and eyelashes were singed.  Then, Nick braced Sole in his arms, mustering all the strength he could to lift her.  His joints screamed in protest as he did his best to cover as much of he and Sole up with the trench coat as he could.  

_1…_

Tension coiled in his legs as he prepared himself – he’d only have one chance to do this right.  

_2…_

He tucked Sole’s face as close to him as he could, having no free hand to cover her nose and mouth. Then he took in a deep breath of his own.

_3!_

He leapt through the wall of flames and tossed his coat away as if it…well, as if it were on fire. Which it was.  Thankfully though, he and Sole  _were not_.  Nick scrabbled to his feet, and slung Sole’s arm around his shoulders.  He was dragging both of them now, his limp severe enough that Nick kept checking behind them to see if there were flames licking at their heels as they walked the path to the back exit.  Almost as if unable to cross over, the fire ignored backstage save for the occasional stray, burning fallen debris, or salvaged clusters of candles.  Nick burst through the door and his legs gave out, sending him and Sole skittering into the dirt.  The crowd of people that had accumulated around the Tappin’ Cat stepped backwards to give him space to fall, before surging in to meet him.  Then there were hands and voices everywhere.

“Are you alright?”

“Is she okay?”

“What happened in there?”

Nick felt pulls from all directions on his clothes and arms, pulling him back up to his feet.  They lingered and let him use them as leverage when they realized the weakness in his legs.  Nick rubbed soot from his eyes and surveyed the scene around him.  It looked as if the whole of Diamond City had gathered – citizens Nick recognized from both the upper and lower stands were working side by side, passing buckets of water and tossing it onto the smoldering club. While it was a heart-warming scene, it did very little to keep up with the blaze.

“Doctor Sun!  Over here!” Nick heard a voice sound from right by him.

Then Doctor Sun, his face as serious as the grave, came rushing over, his medical bag slung over his shoulder.

“Nick – are you alright?”

Nick blinked.  His voice was very loud, and very close.

“Here,” Sun sidled up to Nick, coaxing the synth into leaning on him, “let’s move further from the fire and –“

A terrible cracking sound rumbled ominously from the center of the smoking building.  There were a few notes of silence as the people of Diamond City froze and gave the Tappin’ Cat their full attention.  It seemed she’d die like most young starlets would – dramatically and with all eyes on her.  There was a much louder noise now; like the vengeful spirit of the ‘Cat’s dying spirit let out a raucous snarl before the main room of the Tappin’ Cat folded on itself like a house of cards, sending up a puff of dust, ash and flame.

“Oh my god!” someone screamed distantly, and then the outside chaos ensued.  

The assembly lines passing pails of water hastened as DC Guard members filtered through the throngs of people, checking for injured.  Sun pulled them both away from the ‘Cat’s scorching remains, and Nick’s head lolled back in time to see a good Samaritan donning a medical bag with a red cross on it, scoop Sole up in his arms and follow.  Then Nick stiffened, his eyes focused and he turned his head around, his eyes scanning the crowd again.

“Hey, Nick – it’s alright, we’ve got her.”

“Where is he?” his word felt strange to him, like he’d had to force them out with molasses.

“Where’s who?”

“The man; there was a man in there with us – he saved our lives.  He –“

“Nick,” Sun said gently, “the man in there?  The one trying to hurt you.  That was Tiberius Stierwalt, his father came forward when the fire started.”

“Tiberius is still in  _there_ ,” Nick moaned, his knees buckling and feet dragging for a few moments, “He’s hurt – he was shot three times by…that  _man_! Where did that man go?”

Then a hard surface bloomed beneath Nick as Dr. Sun pushed him onto a cot.  

“Hey,” Sun’s face hovered a couple of inches away from Nick’s, “you and Sole got out – okay? You’re just a bit confused from all the smoke inhalation, fatigue – shock too, maybe.”

Nick felt a pang in his chest and his face contorted, “ _Sole_ , she wouldn’t wake up.  She hasn’t…he gave her something.”

Sun lingered before Nick a couple moments longer, ensuring that he’d deciphered the vicious slur in Nick’s voice correctly, before he turned to the cot opposite of Nick’s, where Sole had been placed.  His eyes ran over her, face and torso first, then each limb, one-by-one as he gently grasped her arm and lifted it so he could search more thoroughly.  On his second try, he found the tape on Sole’s right forearm; he was unsurprised at the puncture mark he found upon peeling the tape off.  If she hadn’t been awake throughout the whole ordeal, Sun guessed it was some heavy dosage of a sedative.  He brushed his thumb over the puncture mark, the skin smooth beneath the pad of it, before he pressed two fingers to her jugular.  It was faint, but the pulse was still there.  Sun turned to Nick again, who’s face had grown ominously slack while his back had been turned.

“Nick,” Sun called out, reaching to shake him slightly, “Nick!”

His eyes fluttered open as Sun jostled him, only to almost float back shut again.  Even without chems, there had to be enough smoke in his system to compromise it.  Sun wrenched his medical bag open as Nick’s eyes fell shut.  It was peaceful.  He didn’t think that – he didn’t think much of anything at all in his current state. But it was; like drifting where the water was warm, and lapped over his skin in soothing touches that banished the traumas of the day.  Here he was safe.  There was no Tiberius.  No Tappin’ Cat engulfed in flames.  No Humphrey with his paint-peeling smile.  

Most importantly, no Sole.

He succumbed to the blackness.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Light filtered in through the pane of glass; the last time Nick had seen it whole, he’d done so with kerosene irises, and there was no marrow inside his bones with which to harbor this brittle ache.  He leaned back in one of the wooden chairs Sole kept around her small kitchen table, his walking stick leaning soundly against its arm.  It was cozy, albeit not as much as when Sole was here with him. It was much easier to banish the unpleasant memories that lingered when there was someone else with him to fend them off too.  That being said, no one had died here, and Nick had to believe that confronting his own demons beat being tormented by Ellie’s murder at the Agency.  He had not been back since.  For now, Nick wanted to remember her without the copper tang of blood, and her empty desk haunting him at every glimpse.  

He glanced at the clock she had mounted on the wall; it was half-past four.  Sole would be home soon from her errands.  He wondered what stops she would be making – probably to Diamond City Surplus to pick up some ingredients for dinner, and maybe Chem-I-Care for some Med-X.  He wished he’d gone with, but she had insisted with his strained hip and leg, that he remain at home.  Now that’s all he could fill the time with; wishing, wondering - and reading the newspaper. He picked up the folded paper from the table again and flipped through it for what must’ve been the umpteenth time. He set it down and checked the clock again – three minutes had passed.

Seven more came and went when there was a knock at the door, and Nick reckoned it took a solid one or two for him to hobble over.  When one had all the time in the world, they became good at not only keeping track of it, but counting the minutes, seconds and spaces in between.  Nick opened the door and his innards seemed to calcify.  

“Good afternoon, Detective Valentine,” Humphrey Stierwalt said smiling shrewdly.  His beady eyes glittered wetly for no particular reason. “Might I come in?”

“Sure,” Nick replied dryly, before limping off to the side to give him space to enter.  

He eyed Humphrey’s feet as he crossed the threshold, half-expecting him to swipe his walking stick from him, or crush his toes, given how their last encounter had ended. Humphrey helped himself to a spot at the table, and Nick followed behind, taking the closest seat he could, instead of returning to his original one.  The newspaper sat limp between them, demonstrative of distance, and vaguely comforting in doing so.  

“So, how’re you doing?” Humphrey asked, eyeing the leg Nick favored, “I heard about how the fire at the Tappin’ Cat,” he shook his head, “a real shame.”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same about you.  I’m sorry about your son.” Nick said thinly.

The corners of Humphrey’s eyes tightened.

“You look like shit.”

Nick chuckled without vitriol.  

“I’d rather look like shit, than dead.”

“Death isn’t the worst thing to happen to a man, surely Nick, you’ve realized that by now?” the purr in Humphrey’s voice went well with his canary-eating grin.  “I’ll bet Tiberius – may he rest in peace - could attest to that.”

Nick mulled this over; not the bullshit Humphrey was spewing, rather, the flatness in his voice when he mentioned his deceased son’s name.  Nick had heard more energy in the petty small talk they’d shared.

“Tiberius said something, back at the ‘Cat,” Nick began, his eyes clouding up as if the fog that hazed over them was really the memory of the fire replaying.  “’once I realized what dad was capable of doing for Sole’ is what he said.”

Humphrey nodded but said nothing.

“He seemed really distraught about Channel’s death.” Nick continued.

“My boy’s temper always got away from him – I’m sure he regretted Channel’s murder up until his own untimely demise.”

“So, he did do it.”

Humphrey and Nick locked eyes.  The former’s were empty, and Nick thought he actually went a little cold peering in.

“He was the one paying you and Sole those…visits.  Making deliveries – I trust you understand what I mean.”

“But was he the murderer?”

“He killed you technically, didn’t he?  You just came back.”

Humphrey’s eyes flashed.

Tiberius was a hulking brute of a man – he’d banished Nick into his silicon shell of a body with his bare hands.  Realistically, the murders could’ve been his doing, although Nick recalled that the clean puncture marks on Channel’s corpse were uncharacteristically restrained. Ellie’s murder, on the other hand, had fit the bill exactly; messy, ravaged, almost animalistic in its brutality. But what about the wedding symbols? Such intricacies?  The poeticism of it all – ripped straight from a Victorian novel, sans the corpse and broken glass, of course.  All loaded with love that sat straining at the seams of the sender’s heart like a bloated balloon before it popped.  And when it finally did?  It didn’t take a genius to connect such collapse to murder – the epitome of collapse in the wake of unspent passions.  A chill slithered up Nick’s spine; it had been Humphrey’s letter, not Tiberius’ that perverted the traditional wedding vows.  

“I know he was the one who threw the butterfly box, but was he the one who killed Channel Tosto?”

They study each other for a while; Nick searching for signs of guilt or remorse.  He found none.  Humphrey searching for an insistence of truth, a declaration that Nick would settle for nothing less.  The knife in his pocket felt light and expensive pressed to his torso from within his vest pocket.  Nick’s gaze just reflected bewilderment stronger than the first time they’d spoken.

“Oh Nick, just let sleeping dogs lie.” Humphrey said, finally sounding his age.

Then he stood up, and Nick lurched to his feet as well.  Humphrey went to the door and waited for Nick to catch up in his unbalanced gait.  It was one of the only courtesies he ever extended to the synth.  

“Get well soon, Nick.” Humphrey said, and then he was gone.

Nick closed the door behind him, leaning heavily into it as if it meant he couldn’t come right back. He sighed and his eyes fell shut. He had half a mind to follow Mr. Stierwalt – but on his leg, he wouldn’t be getting very far.  Is this how it ended?  With the case half-solved?  With the murderer walking free while his son carried the blame to the grave?

Nick’s mind was reeling and then suddenly he found the door pushing back.  He startled and retracted enough for it to swing open. Sole to step in and he staggered backwards, one arm pinwheeling backwards to catch the corner of the table.

“Nick!” she cried out and dropped her satchel, before reaching for him.

“Relax doll, I’m fine – you just gave me a scare, is all.” Nick waved her hands away, trying to dispel her fussing.  

They compromised; he pulled himself up and back into the kitchen chair, but a worried frown marred Sole’s face.  She stooped down to grab her satchel and set it on the table before opening it.  Nick watched as she unloaded its contents; bloodleaf, brahmin meat, some potatoes, and – as he correctly guessed – Med-X.

“It looks like your errands went well,” Nick remarked.

“They did,” Sole palmed the meat and potatoes, and stepped towards the counter.

Nick’s eyes remained on her back as she rummaged through the cabinets for a cutting board and knife. News of Humphrey’s visit was on the tip of his tongue; she deserved to know.  And at the same time, Nick had no plans to respond.  He didn’t chase the man out the door, there was no evidence that placed him specifically at the scene, other than Tiberius’ confession, and there was no more Tappin’ Cat to host a new slew of stalkers.  Perhaps telling Sole at this point would only serve to make her worry more; she struggled to find peaceful sleep as it was already.  Nick was an honest guy; it’s part of why so many considered him to be ‘good people’, and yet, it seemed better for him to keep this mercifully, small lie, to himself.

“Here’s something,” she began, earning his full attention, “I ran into Fahrenheit while out today; you know, from Goodneighbor?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and…she said that Hancock had spoken to Magnolia and that they were looking for another vocalist down at the Third Rail.”

The steady sound of metal on plastic sounded as Sole began to cut into the potatoes.  Nick didn’t know if it was the potential of her news or the gloriously domestic scene, but he felt himself reprieved of a weight he hadn’t been aware of before.

“Well now, that must be a welcome opportunity considering what happened to the ‘Cat.”

Sole laughed.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” she cleared her throat, “which is, uh, why I was…thinking of accepting the offer.”

She set the knife down and turned to face him, her hands braced behind her at the counter still. It was strange; the way she seemed to keep herself anchored there as she spoke of leaving.

“Well, Goodneighbor be damned, it’s a pretty swell offer,” Nick admitted.  

Given how things had been in Diamond City lately, Goodneighbor’s seedy triggerman – mostly big talk than bloodlust – would’ve been a welcome change.  

“Do you really think so? Because really, I can only think of one reason not to take it.”

Nick waited for her to say it outright, although he had a pretty good feeling where this was going.

“The case is over now, and Channel’s murder is dead –“ Nick had to keep himself from wincing as she said this, “ – but…”

“but you and I have been shacking up for about a week now, without so much as a mention about when I’ll leave?” he suggested.

Sole bit her lip.

“I suppose that does beg the question.”

“Yeah, or…” Sole swallowed, “or maybe, when do  _we_  leave?  If you want to.”

She was several feet away from him, there was a table and a couple of chairs between them, yet he still felt his heart pound as if she were close enough to curl her hand at his chest. His breath still caught in his throat like she was inches away from stealing it for herself.  Despite their brushes with almost-kisses in the past, this felt much more intimate than anything that had transpired between them so far; this wasn’t a maybe of an instance, it was a declaration of a future. Sole’s cheeks flared as she watched him, and Nick felt a giddy, almost delirious sort of levity swell in his chest.

“I could do with a change in scenery,” a slow smile spread across Nick’s face.  

Goodneighbor might as well have been Sanctuary in the wake of the scandals shaking up Diamond City these days.  The great, green wall may have done well to protect against threats on the outside, but most failed to see how it kept the less savory parts of people sealed tightly inside to fester like it did with the Stierwalt’s.  Nick didn’t so much mind the thought of putting some extra distance between Humphrey and Sole, especially if he could go with her.

“Yeah?” Sole’s face lit up.

“And I reckon I could do what I do just about anywhere,”  _but there’s only one way to be with you,_ Nick finished to himself.

Sole pushed off from the counter and went to join Nick at the table.

“And I could help,” she offered, her cheeks pinkening, “If you want, I mean, since we’ve already been living together, and you’re not back to one hundred percent yet.”

Nick’s hand inched towards Sole’s, both of their faces darkening when she closed the last bit of distance and let her hand cover his.  It was a little calloused, sort of raspy, like a ghoul’s whisper, as he twisted in her grasp so that he could more easily run his thumb across the back of her hand.  The touch seemed to set it in motion all over again, and by this time, they were well acquainted with this dance.  Their hearts quickened, their faces flushed, and as Sole leaned over, she raised a hand to his chest.  Warmth seeped through his thin, white dress shirt; Sole could feel his heart beat into her palm.  The corner of her mouth quirked upwards into the barest hint of a smile, as he drew nearer. They were close enough now that it was warm everywhere; between their fingers, in their throats, in the furtive breaths that escaped from their parting lips.  Late afternoon sunlight hit Sole’s eyes, and she pinched them shut. She felt him pause before her – the first time, he had worried he wasn’t real enough for her, the second time, he had succumbed to new, human weaknesses.  Now, there was nothing left to stop him.  He was flesh and blood – every cell ached for her.  He was whole, and ready, and wanting as all hell – oh, and he’d already eaten.  

The next moment, Nick’s lips were on hers, just as warm, and rasped as the rest of him.  He tasted like coffee and cigarettes, and the sunshine that forged them together in this dying afternoon, where thankfully, they were just beginning to come to life.  She leaned into him, settling into him like it was the only place she knew.  He kissed her firmly, his hands sliding behind her jaw to tangle in her hair and keep her close to him.  She felt precious, cradled in his hands.  And when the kiss was done, she felt radiant, as his gaze pored over her, studying the flush to her skin, and the way the sun hit her irises and split into a million, brilliant fractals.  His thumb came up to brush gently at her bottom lip - he’d smudged her lipstick.  Sole blinked adoringly at him.

“Sounds like a plan, doll.”


End file.
